FREDERIC  R.  KIRKLAXD 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


WILLIAM    D.   HOWELLS'S   WRITINGS. 


I.  VENETIAN  LIFE.     Including   Commercial,  So- 
cial, Historical,  and  Artistic  Notice  of  the  Place.     In 
one  volume,  crown  8vo,  doth,  $  2.00. 

Mr.  Howells  deserves  a  place  in  the  first  rank  of  American  travel- 
lers. This  volume  thoroughly  justifies  its  title  ;  it  does  give  a  true 
and  vivid  and  almost  a  complete  picture  of  Venetian  life.  —  Pall 
Mall  Gazette. 

We  know  of  no  single  word  which  will  so  fitly  characterize  Mr. 
Howells's  new  volume  about  Venice,  as  "delightful." — N.  A.  Re- 
view. 

There  is  hardly  a  feature  of  Venetian  life  that  escapes  his  sympa- 
thetic observation.  —  Westminster  Review. 

The  most  vivid,  accurate,  and  poetic  description  of  life  in  Venice 
that  we  recall.  —  Harper's  Monthly. 

Every  sentence  of  this  charming  book  is  characteristic.  It  is  the 
very  model  of  what  a  light  book  of  travels  ought  to  be.  —  London 
Contemporary  Review. 

.  .  .  .  America  is  beginning,  in  such  books  as  these,  to  judge 
the  Old  World ;  to  measure  it  by  her  new  standard,  and  to  mark  its 
slow  progress  toward  that  future  on  which  she  has  already  entered. 
—  The  Nation. 

II.  ITALIAN  JOURNEYS.     In  one  volume,  crown 
8vo,  cloth,  $  2.00. 

There  is  no  writer  of  travels  in  our  day  so  simple,  sincere,  enjoy- 
able, and  profitable.  —  Brooklyn  Union. 

The  reader  who  has  gone  over  the  ground  which  Mr.  Howells 
describes  will  be  struck  with  the  life-like  freshness  and  accuracy  of 
his  sketches,  while  he  will  admire  the  brilliant  fancy  which  has  cast 
a  rich  poetical  coloring  even  around  the  prosaic  highways  of  ordinary 
travel.  —  New  York  Tribune. 

It  possesses  all  the  characteristics  of  the  former  volume,  so  far  as 
style  and  qualities  of  matter  are  concerned,  and  those  who  read  that 
work  will  find  this  quite  as  admirable  and  fine.  — Liberal  Christian. 

III.  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES.      In  one   volume, 
crown  8vo,  cloth. 


SUBTJKBAN  SKETCHES. 


SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 


BT 


W.   D.   HOWELLS, 


AUTHOR  OF  "VENETIAN  LIFE"  AND  "ITALIAN  JOURNEYS." 


NEW   YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  HURD  AND  HOUGHTON. 


1871. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

W.  D.  HOWELLS, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

8TEREOTTPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 

H.  0.  HODOHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

MRS.  JOHNSON 11 

DOORSTEP  ACQUAINTANCE 35 

A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR 60 

BY  HORSE-CAR  TO  BOSTON 91 

A  DAY'S  PLEASURE 115 

A  ROMANCE  or  REAL  LIFE 171 

SCENE 190 

JUBILEE  DAYS 195 

FLITTING 220 


SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 


MRS.  JOHNSON. 

IT  was  on  a  morning  of  the  lovely  New  England 
May  that  we  left  the  horse-car,  and,  spreading  our 
umbrellas,  walked  down  the  street  to  our  new  home 
in  Charleshridge,  through  a  storm  of  snow  and  rain 
so  finely  blent  by  the  influences  of  this  fortunate 
climate,  that  no  flake  knew  itself  from  its  sister  drop, 
or  could  be  better  identified  by  the  people  against 
whom  they  beat  in  unison.  A  vernal  gale  from  the 
east  fanned  our  cheeks  and  pierced  our  marrow  and 
chilled  our  blood,  while  the  raw,  cold  green  of  the 
adventurous  grass  on  the  borders  of  the  sopping  side- 
walks gave,  as  it  peered  through  its  veil  of  melting 
snow  and  freezing  rain,  a  peculiar  cheerfulness  to  the 
landscape.  Here  and  there  in  the  vacant  lots  aban- 
doned hoop-skirts  defied  decay ;  and  near  the  half- 
finished  wooden  houses,  empty  mortar-beds,  and  bits 
of  lath  and  slate  strewn  over  the  scarred  and  muti- 
lated ground,  added  their  interest  to  the  scene.  A 
shaggy  drift  hung  upon  the  trees  before  our  own 
house  (which  had  been  built  some  years  earlier), 
while  its  swollen  eaves  wept  silently  and  incessantly 


12  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

upon  the  embankments  lifting  its  base  several  feet 
above  the  common  level. 

This  heavenly  weather,  which  the  Pilgrim  Fathers, 
with  the  idea  of  turning  their  thoughts  effectually 
from  earthly  pleasures,  came  so  far  to  discover,  con- 
tinued with  slight  amelioration  throughout  the  month 
of  May  and  far  into  June  ;  and  it  was  a  matter  of 
constant  amazement  with  one  who  had  known  less 
austere  climates,  to  behold  how  vegetable  life  strug- 
gled with  the  hostile  skies,  and,  in  an  atmosphere  as 
chill  and  damp  as  that  of  a  cellar,  shot  forth  the  buds 
and  blossoms  upon  the  pear-trees,  called  out  the  sour 
Puritan  courage  of  the  currant-bushes,  taught  a  reck- 
less native  grape-vine  to  wander  and  wanton  over 
the  southern  side  of  the  fence,  and  decked  the  banks 
with  violets  as  fearless  and  as  fragile  as  New  England 
girls ;  so  that  about  the  end  of  June,  when  the  heav- 
ens relented  and  the  sun  blazed  out  at  last,  there  was 
little  for  him  to  do  but  to  redden  and  darken  the 
daring  fruits  that  had  attained  almost  their  full  growth 
without  his  countenance. 

Then,  indeed,  Charlesbridge  appeared  to  us  a  kind 
of  Paradise.  The  wind  blew  all  day  from  the  south- 
west, and  all  day  in  the  grove  across  the  way  the 
orioles  sang  to  their  nestlings.  The  butcher's  wagon 
rattled  merrily  up  to  our  gate  every  morning ;  and 
if  we  had  kept  no  other  reckoning,  we  should  have 
known  it  was  Thursday  by  the  grocer.  We  were 
living  in  the  country  with  the  conveniences  and  lux- 
uries of  the  city  about  us.  The  house  was  almost 
new  and  in  perfect  repair ;  and,  better  than  all,  the 


MRS.   JOHNSON.  13 

kitchen  had  as  yet  given  no  signs  of  unrest  in  those 
volcanic  agencies  which  are  constantly  at  work  there, 
and  which,  with  sudden  explosion,  make  Hercula- 
neums  and  Pompeiis  of  so  many  smiling  households. 
Breakfast,  dinner,  and  tea  came  up  with  illusive 
regularity,  and  were  all  the  most  perfect  of  their 
kind ;  and  we  laughed  and  feasted  in  our  vain  se- 
curity. We  had  out  from  the  city  to  banquet  with 
us  the  friends  we  loved,  and  we  were  inexpressibly 
proud  before  them  of  the  Help,  who  first  wrought 
miracles  of  cookery  in  our  honor,  and  then  appeared 
in  a  clean  white  apron,  and  the  glossiest  black  hair, 
to  wait  upon  the  table.  She  was  young,  and  cer- 
tainly very  pretty ;  she  was  as  gay  as  a  lark,  and 
was  courted  by  a  young  man  whose  clothes  would 
have  been  a  credit,  if  they  had  not  been  a  reproach, 
to  our  lowly  basement.  She  joyfully  assented  to  the 
idea  of  staying  with  us  till  she  married. 

In  fact,  there  was  much  that  was  extremely  pleas- 
ant about  the  little  place  when  the  warm  weather 
came,  and  it  was  not  wonderful  to  us  that  Jenny  was 
willing  to  remain.  It  was  very  quiet ;  we  called 
one  another  to  the  window  if  a  large  dog  went  by 
our  door ;  and  whole  days  passed  without  the  move- 
ment of  any  wheels  but  the  butcher's  upon  our 
street,  which  flourished  in  ragweed  and  butter-cups 
and  daisies,  and  in  the  autumn  burned,  like  the 
borders  of  nearly  all  the  streets  in  Charlesbridge, 
with  the  pallid  azure  flame  of  the  succory.  The 
neighborhood  was  in  all  things  a  frontier  between 
city  and  country.  The  horse-cars,  the  type  of  such 


14  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

civilization  —  full  of  imposture,  discomfort,  and  sub- 
lime possibility  —  as  we  yet  possess,  went  by  the 
head  of  our  street,  and  might,  perhaps,  be  available 
to  one  skilled  in  calculating  the  movements  of 
comets ;  while  two  minutes'  walk  would  take  us  into 
a  wood  so  wild  and  thick  that  no  roof  was  visible 
through  the  trees.  We  learned,  like  innocent  pas- 
toral people  of  the  golden  age,  to  know  the  several 
voices  of  the  cows  pastured  in  the  vacant  lots,  and, 
like  engine-drivers  of  the  iron  age,  to  distinguish  the 
different  whistles  of  the  locomotives  passing  on  the 
neighboring  railroad.  The  trains  shook  the  house 
as  they  thundered  along,  and  at  night  were  a  kind 
of  company,  while  by  day  we  had  the  society  of  the 
innumerable  birds.  Now  and  then,  also,  the  little 
ragged  boys  in  charge  of  the  cows  —  which,  tied  by 
long  ropes  to  trees,  forever  wound  themselves  tight 
up  against  the  trunks,  and  had  to  be  unwound  with 
great  ado  of  hooting  and  hammering — came  and 
peered  lustfully  through  the  gate  at  our  ripening 
pears.  All  round  us  carpenters  were  at  work  build- 
ing new  houses ;  but  so  far  from  troubling  us,  the 
strokes  of  their  hammers  fell  softly  upon  the  sense, 
like  one's  heart-beats  upon  one's  own  consciousness 
in  the  lapse  from  all  fear  of  pain  under  the  blessed 
charm  of  an  anaesthetic. 

We  played  a  little  at  gardening,  of  course,  and 
planted  tomatoes,  which  the  chickens  seemed  to  like, 
for  they  ate  them  up  as  fast  as  they  ripened ;  and 
we  watched  with  pride  the  growth  of  our  Lawton 
blackberries,  which,  after  attaining  the  most  stal- 


MRS.  JOHNSON.  15 

wart  proportions,  were  still  as  bitter  as  the  scrub- 
biest of  their  savage  brethren,  and  which,  when  by 
advice  left  on  the  vines  for  a  week  after  they  turned 
black,  were  silently  gorged  by  secret  and  gluttonous 
flocks  of  robins  and  orioles.  As  for  our  grapes,  the 
frost  cut  them  off  in  the  hour  of  their  triumph. 

So,  as  I  have  hinted,  we  were  not  surprised  that 
Jenny  should  be  willing  to  remain  with  us,  and  were 
as  little  prepared  for  her  desertion  as  for  any  other 
change  of  our  moral  state.  But  one  day  in  Septem- 
ber she  came  to  her  nominal  mistress  with  tears  in 
her  beautiful  eyes  and  protestations  of  unexampled 
devotion  upon  her  tongue,  and  said  that  she  was 
afraid  she  must  leave  us.  She  liked  the  place,  and 
she  never  had  worked  for  any  one  that  was  more  of 
a  lady,  but  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  go  into  the 
city.  All  this,  so  far,  was  quite  in  the  manner  of 
domestics  who,  in  ghost  stories,  give  warning  to  the 
occupants  of  haunted  houses ;  and  Jenny's  mistress 
listened  in  suspense  for  the  motive  of  her  desertion, 
expecting  to  hear  no  less  than  that  it  was  something 
which  walked  up  and  down  the  stairs  and  dragged 
iron  links  after  it,  or  something  that  came  and 
groaned  at  the  front  door,  like  populace  dissatisfied 
with  a  political  candidate.  But  it  was  in  fact  noth- 
ing of  this  kind ;  simply,  there  were  no  lamps  upon 
our  street,  and  Jenny,  after  spending  Sunday  even- 
ing with  friends  in  East  Charlesbridge,  was  always 
alarmed,  on  her  return,  in  walking  from  the  horse- 
car  to  our  door.  The  case  was  hopeless,  and  Jenny 
and  our  household  parted  with  respect  and  regret. 


16  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

We  had  not  before  this  thought  it  a  grave  disad- 
vantage that  our  street  was  unlighted.  Our  street 
was  not  drained  nor  graded  ;  no  municipal  cart  ever 
came  to  carry  away  our  ashes ;  there  was  not  a 
water-butt  within  half  a  mile  to  save  us  from  fire, 
nor  more  than  the  one  thousandth  part  of  a  police- 
man to  protect  us  from  theft.  Yet,  as  I  paid  a  heavy 
tax,  I  somehow  felt  that  we  enjoyed  the  benefits  of 
city  government,  and  never  looked  upon  Charles- 
bridge  as  in  any  way  undesirable  for  residence.  But 
when  it  became  necessary  to  find  help  in  Jenny's 
place,  the  frosty  welcome  given  to  application  at  the 
intelligence  offices  renewed  a  painful  doubt  awakened 
by  her  departure.  To  be  sure,  the  heads  of  the 
offices  were  polite  enough ;  but  when  the  young 
housekeeper  had  stated  her  case  at  the  first  to  which 
she  applied,  and  the  Intelligencer  had  called  out  to 
the  invisible  expectants  in  the  adjoining  room, 
"Anny  wan  wants  to  do  giner'l  housewark  in 
Charlsbrudo-e  ?  "  there  came  from  the  maids  invoked 

o 

so  loud,  so  fierce,  so  full  a  "  No  ! "  as  shook  the 
lady's  heart  with  an  indescribable  shame  and  dread. 
The  name  that,  with  an  innocent  pride  in  its  literary 
and  historical  associations,  she  had  written  at  the 
heads  of  her  letters,  was  suddenly  become  a  matter 
of  reproach  to  her ;  and  she  was  almost  tempted  to 
conceal  thereafter  that  she  lived  in  Charlesbridge, 
and  to  pretend  that  she  dwelt  upon  some  wretched 
little  street  in  Boston.  "  You  see,"  said  the  head  of 
the  office,  "  the  gairls  doesn't  like  to  live  so  far  away 
from  the  city.  Now  if  it  was  on'y  in  the  Port  .  ..." 


MRS.   JOHNSON.  17 

This  pen  is  not  graphic  enough  to  give  the  remote 
reader  an  idea  of  the  affront  offered  to  an  inhab- 
itant of  Old  Charlesbridge  in  these  closing  words. 
Neither  am  I  of  sufficiently  tragic  mood  to  report 
here  all  the  sufferings  undergone  by  an  unhappy  fam- 
ily in  finding  servants,  or  to  tell  how  the  winter  was 
passed  with  miserable  makeshifts.  Alas !  is  it  not 
the  history  of  a  thousand  experiences  ?  Any  one 
who  looks  upon  this  page  could  match  it  with  a  tale 
as  full  of  heartbreak  and  disaster,  while  I  conceive 
that,  in  hastening  to  speak  of  Mrs.  Johnson,  I  ap- 
proach a  subject  of  unique  interest. 

The  winter  that  ensued  after  Jenny's  departure 
was  the  true  sister  of  the  bitter  and  shrewish  spring 
of  the  same  year.  But  indeed  it  is  always  with  a 
secret  shiver  that  one  must  think  of  winter  in  our 
regrettable  climate.  It  is  a  terrible  potency,  robbing 
us  of  half  our  lives,  and  threatening  or  desolating 
the  moiety  left  us  with  rheumatisms  and  catarrhs. 
There  is  a  much  vaster  sum  of  enjoyment  possible  to 
man  in  the  more  generous  latitudes ;  and  I  have 
sometimes  doubted  whether  even  the  energy  charac- 
teristic of  ours  is  altogether  to  be  praised,  seeing 
that  it  has  its  spring  not  so  much  in  pure  aspiration  as 
in  the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  Egyptian,  Greek, 
Roman  energy  was  an  inner  impulse  ;  but  ours  is 
too  often  the  sting  of  cold,  the  spur  of  famine.  We 
must  endure  our  winter,  but  let  us  not  be  guilty  of 
the  hypocrisy  of  pretending  that  we  like  it.  Let  us 
caress  it  with  no  more  vain  compliments,  but  use  it 
with  something  of  its  own  rude  and  savage  sincerity. 

2 


18  SUBURBAN'  SKETCHES. 

I  say,  our  last  Irish  girl  went  with  the  last  snow, 
and  on  one  of  those  midsummer-like  days  that  some- 
times fall  in  early  April  to  our  yet  bleak  and  desolate 
zone,  our  hearts  sang  of  Africa  and  golden  joys.  A 
Libyan  longing  took  us,  and  we  would  have  chosen, 
if  we  could,  to  bear  a  strand  of  grotesque  beads,  or  a 
handful  of  brazen  gauds,  and  traffic  them  for  some 
sable  maid  with  crisped  locks,  whom,  uncoffling 
from  the  captive  train  beside  the  desert,  we  should 
make  to  do  our  general  housework  forever,  through 
the  right  of  lawful  purchase.  But  we  knew  that 
this  was  impossible,  and  that,  if  we  desired  colored 
help,  we  must  seek  it  at  the  intelligence  office,  which 
is  in  one  of  those  streets  chiefly  inhabited  by  the 
orphaned  children  and  grandchildren  of  slavery. 
To  tell  the  truth  these  orphans  do  not  seem  to  grieve 
much  for  their  bereavement,  but  lead  a  life  of  joyous 
and  rather  indolent  oblivion  in  their  quarter  of  the 
city.  They  are  often  to  be  seen  sauntering  up  and 
down  the  street  by  which  the  Charlesbridge  cars 
arrive,  —  the  young  with  a  harmless  swagger,  and 
the  old  with  the  generic  limp  which  our  Autocrat  has 
already  noted  as  attending  advanced  years  in  their 
race.  They  seem  the  natural  human  interest  of  a 
street  so  largely  devoted  to  old  clothes ;  and  the 
thoughtful  may  see  a  felicity  in  their  presence  where 
the  pawnbrokers'  windows  display  the  forfeited 
pledges  of  improvidence,  and  subtly  remind  us  that 
we  have  yet  to  redeem  a  whole  race,  pawned  in  our 
needy  and  reckless  national  youth,  and  still  held 
against  us  by  the  Uncle  of  Injustice,  who  is  also  the 


MRS.   JOHNSON.  19 

Father  of  Lies.  How  gayly  are  the  young  ladies  of 
this  race  attired,  as  they  trip  up  and  down  the  side- 
walks, and  in  and  out  through  the  pendent  garments 
at  the  shop  doors  !  They  are  the  black  pansies  and 
marigolds  and  dark-blooded  dahlias  among  woman- 
kind. They  try  to  assume  something  of  our  colder 
race's  demeanor,  but  even  the  passer  on  the  horse- 
car  can  see  that  it  is  not  native  with  them,  and  is 
better  pleased  when  they  forget  us,  and  ungenteelly 
laugh  in  encountering  friends,  letting  their  white 
teeth  glitter  through  the  generous  lips  that  open  to 
their  ears.  In  the  streets  branching  upwards  from 
this  avenue,  very  little  colored  men  and  maids  play 
with  broken  or  enfeebled  toys,  or  sport  on  the  wooden 
pavements  of  the  entrances  to  the  inner  courts. 
Now  and  then  a  colored  soldier  or  sailor  —  looking 
strange  in  his  uniform,  even  after  the  custom  of 
several  years  —  emerges  from  those  passages  ;  or, 
more  rarely,  a  black  gentleman,  stricken  in  years, 
and  cased  in  shining  broadcloth,  walks  solidly  down 
the  brick  sidewalk,  cane  in  hand, — a  vision  of 
serene  self-complacency,  and  so  plainly  the  expres- 
sion of  virtuous  public  sentiment  that  the  great  col- 
ored louts,  innocent  enough  till  then  in  their  idleness, 
are  taken  with  a  sudden  sense  of  depravity,  and  loaf 
guiltily  up  against  the  house-walls.  At  the  same 
moment,  perhaps,  a  young  damsel,  amorously  scuf- 
fling with  an  admirer  through  one  of  the  low  open 
windows,  suspends  the  strife,  and  bids  him,  "  Go 
along  now,  do  !  "  More  rarely  yet  than  the  gentle- 
man described,  one  may  see  a  white  girl  among  the 


20  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

dark  neighbors,  whose  frowzy  head  is  uncovered, 
and  whose  sleeves  are  rolled  up  to  her  elbows,  and 
who,  though  no  doubt  quite  at  home,  looks  as  strange 
there  as  that  pale  anomaly  which  may  sometimes  be 
seen  among  a  crew  of  blackbirds. 

An  air  not  so  much  of  decay  as  of  unthrift,  and 
yet  hardly  of  unthrift,  seems  to  prevail  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, which  has  none  of  the  aggressive  and  im- 
pudent squalor  of  an  Irish  quarter,  and  none  of  the 
surly  wickedness  of  a  low  American  street.  A  gay- 
ety  not  born  of  the  things  that  bring  its  serious  joy 
to  the  true  New  England  heart  —  a  ragged  gayety, 
which  comes  of  summer  in  the  blood,  and  not  in  the 
pocket  or  the  conscience,  and  which  affects  the  coun- 
tenance and  the  whole  demeanor,  setting  the  feet  to 
some  inward  music,  and  at  times  bursting  into  a  line 
of  song  or  a  child-like  and  irresponsible  laugh — gives 
tone  to  the  visible  life,  and  wakens  a  very  friendly 
spirit  in  the  passer,  who  somehow  thinks  there  of  a 
milder  climate,  and  is  hah7  persuaded  that  the 
orange-peel  on  the  sidewalks  came  from  fruit  grown 
in  the  soft  atmosphere  of  those  back  courts. 

It  was  in  this  quarter,  then,  that  we  heard  of  Mrs. 
Johnson ;  and  it  was  from  a  colored  boarding-house 
there  that  she  came  out  to  Charlesbridge  to  look  at 
us,  bringing  her  daughter  of  twelve  years  with  her. 
She  was  a  matron  of  mature  age  and  portly  figure, 
with  a  complexion  like  coffee  soothed  with  the  rich- 
est cream ;  and  her  manners  were  so  full  of  a  certain 
tranquillity  and  grace,  that  she  charmed  away  all  our 
will  to  ask  for  references.  It  was  only  her  barbaric 


MRS.  JOHNSON.  21 

laughter  and  her  lawless  eye  that  betrayed  how 
slightly  her  New  England  birth  and  breeding  cov- 
ered her  ancestral  traits,  and  bridged  the  gulf  of  a 
thousand  years  of  civilization  that  lay  between  her 
race  and  ours.  But  in  fact,  she  was  doubly  estranged 
by  descent ;  for,  as  we  learned  later,  a  sylvan  wild- 
ness  mixed  with  that  of  the  desert  in  her  veins :  her 
grandfather  was  an  Indian,  and  her  ancestors  on  this 
side  had  probably  sold  their  lands  for  the  same  value 
in  trinkets  that  bought  the  original  African  pair  on 
the  other  side. 

The  first  day  that  Mrs.  Johnson  descended  into 
our  kitchen,  she  conjured  from  the  malicious  disorder 
in  which  it  had  been  left  by  the  flitting  Irish  kobold 
a  dinner  that  revealed  the  inspirations  of  genius,  and 
was  quite  different  from  a  dinner  of  mere  routine 
and  laborious  talent.  Something  original  and  au- 
thentic mingled  with  the  accustomed  flavors ;  and, 
though  vague  reminiscences  of  canal-boat  travel  and 
woodland  camps  arose  from  the  relish  of  certain  of 
the  dishes,  there  was  yet  the  assurance  of  such  power 
in  the  preparation  of  the  whole,  that  we  knew  her  to 
be  merely  running  over  the  chords  of  our  appetite 
with  preliminary  savors,  as  a  musician  acquaints  his 
touch  with  the  keys  of  an  unfamiliar  piano  before 
breaking  into  brilliant  and  triumphant  execution. 
Within  a  week  she  had  mastered  her  instrument ; 
and  thereafter  there  was  no  faltering  in  her  perform- 
ances, which  she  varied  constantly,  through  inspira- 
tion or  from  suggestion.  She  was  so  quick  to  receive 
new  ideas  in  her  art,  that,  when  the  Roman  statuary 


22  SUBUKBAN  SKETCHES. 

who  stayed  a  few  weeks  with  us  explained  the  mys- 
tery of  various  purely  Latin  dishes,  she  caught  their 
principle  at  once  ;  and  visions  of  the  great  white 
cathedral,  the  Coliseum,  and  the  "  dome  of  Brunel- 
leschi "  floated  before  us  in  the  exhalations  of  the 
Milanese  risotto,  Roman  stufadino,  and  Florentine 
stracotto  that  smoked  upon  our  board.  But,  after 
all,  it  was  in  puddings  that  Mrs.  Johnson  chiefly 
excelled.  She  was  one  of  those  cooks — rare  as  men 
of  genius  in  literature — who  love  their  own  dishes  ; 
and  she  had,  in  her  personally  child-like  simplicity  of 
taste,  and  the  inherited  appetites  of  her  savage  fore- 
fathers, a  dominant  passion  for  sweets.  So  far  as  we 
could  learn,  she  subsisted  principally  upon  puddings 
and  tea.  Through  the  same  primitive  instincts,  no 
doubt,  she  loved  praise.  She  openly  exulted  in  our 
artless  flatteries  of  her  skill ;  she  waited  jealously  at 
the  head  of  the  kitchen  stairs  to  hear  what  was  said 
of  her  work,  especially  if  there  were  guests;  and 
she  was  never  too  weary  to  attempt  emprises  of 
cookery. 

While  engaged  in  these,  she  wore  a  species  of 
sightly  handkerchief  like  a  turban  upon  her  head, 
and  about  her  person  those  mystical  swathings  in 
which  old  ladies  of  the  African  race  delight.  But 
she  most  pleasured  our  sense  of  beauty  and  moral 
fitness  when,  after  the  last  pan  was  washed  and  the 
last  pot  was  scraped,  she  lighted  a  potent  pipe,  and, 
taking  her  stand  at  the  kitchen  door,  laded  the  soft 
evening  air  with  its  pungent  odors.  If  we  surprised 
her  at  these  supreme  moments,  she  took  the  pipe 


MRS.   JOHNSON.  23 

from  her  lips,  and  put  it  behind  her,  with  a  low, 
mellow  chuckle,  and  a  look  of  half-defiant  conscious- 
ness ;  never  guessing  that  none  of  her  merits  took 
us  half  so  much  as  the  cheerful  vice  which  she  only 
feigned  to  conceal. 

Some  things  she  could  not  do  so  perfectly  as  cook- 
ing, because  of  her  failing  eyesight;  and  we  per- 
suaded her  that  spectacles  would  both  become  and 
befriend  a  lady  of  her  years,  and  so  bought  her  a 
pair  of  steel-bowed  glasses.  She  wore  them  in  some 
great  emergencies  at  first,  but  had  clearly  no  pride 
in  them.  Before  long  she  laid  them  aside  altogether, 
and  they  had  passed  from  our  thoughts,  when  one 
day  we  heard  her  mellow  note  of  laughter  and  her 
daughter's  harsher  cackle  outside  our  door,  and, 
opening  it,  beheld  Mrs.  Johnson  in  gold-bowed  spec- 
tacles of  massive  frame.  We  then  learned  that  their 
purchase  was  in  fulfillment  of  a  vow  made  long  ago, 
in  the  life-time  of  Mr.  Johnson,  that,  if  ever  she  wore 
glasses,  they  should  be  gold-bowed ;  and  I  hope  the 
manes  of  the  dead  were  half  as  happy  in  these  votive 
spectacles  as  the  simple  soul  that  offered  them. 

She  and  her  late  partner  were  the  parents  of 
eleven  children,  some  of  whom  were  dead,  and 
some  of  whom  were  wanderers  in  unknown  parts. 
During  his  life-time  she  had  kept  a  little  shop  in  her 
native  town  ;  and  it  was  only  within  a  few  years  that 
she  had  o;one  into  service.  She  cherished  a  natural 

O 

haughtiness  of  spirit,  and  resented  control,  although 
disposed  to  do  all  she  could  of  her  own  motion. 
Being  told  to  say  when  she  wanted  an  afternoon, 


24  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

she  explained  that  when  she  wanted  an  afternoon 
she  always  took  it  without  asking,  but  always  planned 
so  as  not  to  discommode  the  ladies  with  whom  she 
lived.  These,  she  said,  had  numbered  twenty-seven 
within  three  years,  which  made  us  doubt  the  success 
of  her  system  in  all  cases,  though  she  merely  held 
out  the  fact  as  an  assurance  of  her  faith  in  the  fu- 
ture, and  a  proof  of  the  ease  with  which  places  were 
to  be  found.  She  contended,  moreover,  that  a  lady 
who  had  for  thirty  years  had  a  house  of  her  own, 
was  in  nowise  bound  to  ask  permission  to  receive 
visits  from  friends  where  she  might  be  living,  but 
that  they  ought  freely  to  come  and  go  like  other 
guests.  In  this  spirit  she  once  invited  her  son-in- 
law,  Professor  Jones  of  Providence,  to  dine  with 
her ;  and  her  defied  mistress,  on  entering  the  dining- 
room,  found  the  Professor  at  pudding  and  tea  there, 
—  an  impressively  respectable  figure  in  black  clothes, 
with  a  black  face  rendered  yet  more  effective  by  a 
pair  of  green  goggles.  It  appeared  that  this  dark 
professor  was  a  light  of  phrenology  in  Rhode  Island, 
and  that  he  was  believed  to  have  uncommon  virtue 
in  his  science  by  reason  of  being  blind  as  well  as 

«/  o 

black. 

I  am  loath  to  confess  that  Mrs.  Johnson  had  not  a 
flattering  opinion  of  the  Caucasian  race  in  all  re- 
spects. In  fact,  she  had  very  good  philosophical  and 
Scriptural  reasons  for  looking  upon  us  as  an  upstart 
people  of  new  blood,  who  had  come  into  their  white- 
ness by  no  creditable  or  pleasant  process.  The  late 
Mr.  Johnson,  who  had  died  in  the  West  Indies, 


MRS.   JOHNSON.  25 

whither  he  voyaged  for  his  health  in  quality  of  cook 
upon  a  Down-East  schooner,  was  a  man  of  letters, 
and  had  written  a  book  to  show  the  superiority  of 
the  black  over  the  white  branches  of  the  human 
family.  In  this  he  held  that,  as  all  islands  have  been 
at  their  discovery  found  peopled  by  blacks,  we  must 
needs  believe  that  humanity  was  first  created  of  that 
color.  Mrs.  Johnson  could  not  show  us  her  hus- 
band's work  (a  sole  copy  in  the  library  of  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman  at  Port  au  Prince  is  not  to  be  bought 
for  money),  but  she  often  developed  its  arguments 
to  the  lady  of  the  house ;  and  one  day,  with  a  great 
show  of  reluctance,  and  many  protests  that  no  per- 
sonal slight  was  meant,  let  fall  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Johnson  believed  the  white  race  descended  from 
Gehazi  the  leper,  upon  whom  the  leprosy  of  Naaman 
fell  when  the  latter  returned  by  Divine  favor  to  his 
original  blackness.  "And  he  went  out  from  his 
presence  a  leper  as  white  as  snow,"  said  Mrs.  John- 
son, quoting  irrefutable  Scripture.  "Leprosy,  lep- 
rosy," she  added  thoughtfully,  —  "  nothing  but  lep- 
rosy bleached  you  out." 

It  seems  to  me  much  in  her  praise  that  she  did  not 
exult  in  our  taint  and  degradation,  as  some  white 
philosophers  used  to  do  in  the  opposite  idea  that  a 
part  of  the  human  family  were  cursed  to  lasting 
blackness  and  slavery  in  Ham  and  his  children,  but 
even  told  us  of  a  remarkable  approach  to  whiteness 
in  many  of  her  own  offspring.  In  a  kindred  spirit 
of  charity,  no  doubt,  she  refused  ever  to  attend 
church  with  people  of  her  elder  and  wholesomer 


26  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

blood.  When  she  went  to  church,  she  said,  she 
always  went  to  a  white  church,  though  while  with 
us  I  am  bound  to  say  she  never  went  to  any.  She 
professed  to  read  her  Bible  in  her  bedroom  on  Sun- 
days ;  but  we  suspected,  from  certain  sounds  and 
odors  which  used  to  steal  out  of  this  sanctuary,  that 
her  piety  more  commonly  found  expression  in  dozing 
and  smoking. 

I  would  not  make  a  wanton  jest  here  of  Mrs. 
Johnson's  anxiety  to  claim  honor  for  the  African 
color,  while  denying  this  color  in  many  of  her  own 
family.  It  afforded  a  glimpse  of  the  pain  which  all 
her  people  must  endure,  however  proudly  they  hide 
it  or  light-heartedly  forget  it,  from  the  despite  and 
contumely  to  which  they  are  guiltlessly  born ;  and 
when  I  thought  how  irreparable  was  this  disgrace 
and  calamity  of  a  black  skin,  and  how  irreparable  it 
must  be  for  ages  yet,  in  this  world  where  every  other 
shame  and  all  manner  of  wilful  guilt  and  wickedness 
may  hope  for  covert  and  pardon,  I  had  little  heart 
to  laugh.  Indeed,  it  was  so  pathetic  to  hear  this 
poor  old  soul  talk  of  her  dead  and  lost  ones,  and  try, 
in  spite  of  all  Mr.  Johnson's  theories  and  her  own 
arrogant  generalizations,  to  establish  their  whiteness, 
that  we  must  have  been  very  cruel  and  silly  people 
to  turn  her  sacred  fables  even  into  matter  of  ques- 
tion. I  have  no  doubt  that  her  Antoinette  Anastasia 
and  her  Thomas  Jefferson  Wilberforce  —  it  is  impos- 
sible to  give  a  full  idea  of  the  splendor  and  scope  of 
the  baptismal  names  in  Mrs.  Johnson's  family — have 
as  light  skins  and  as  golden  hair  in  heaven  as  her 


MRS.  JOHNSON.  27 

reverend  maternal  fancy  painted  for  them  in  our 
world.  There,  certainly,  they  would  not  be  subject  to 
tanning,  which  had  ruined  the  delicate  complexion, 
and  had  knotted  into  black  woolly  tangles  the  once 
wavy  blonde  locks  of  our  little  maid-servant  Naomi ; 
and  I  would  fain  believe  that  Toussaint  Washington 
Johnson,  who  ran  away  to  sea  so  many  years  ago, 
has  found  some  fortunate  zone  where  his  hair  and 
skin  keep  the  same  sunny  and  rosy  tints  they  wore 
to  his  mother's  eyes  in  infancy.  But  I  have  no 
means  of  knowing  this,  or  of  telling  whether  he  was 
the  prodigy  of  intellect  that  he  was  declared  to  be. 
Naomi  could  no  more  be  taken  in  proof  of  the  one 
assertion  than  of  the  other.  "When  she  came  to  us, 
it  was  agreed  that  she  should  go  to  school ;  but  she 
overruled  her  mother  in  this  as  in  everything  else, 
and  never  went.  Except  Sunday-school  lessons,  she 
had  no  other  instruction  than  that  her  mistress  gave 
her  in  the  evenings,  when  a  heavy  day's  play  and 
the  natural  influences  of  the  hour  conspired  with 
original  causes  to  render  her  powerless  before  words 
of  one  syllable. 

The  first  week  of  her  service  she  was  obedient 
and  faithful  to  her  duties  ;  but,  relaxing  in  the  at- 
mosphere of  a  house  which  seems  to  demoralize  all 
menials,  she  shortly  fell  into  disorderly  ways  of  lying 
in  wait  for  callers  out  of  .doors,  and,  when  people 
rang,  of  running  up  the  front  steps,  and  letting  them 
in  from  the  outside.  As  the  season  expanded,  and 
the  fine  weather  became  confirmed,  she  modified 
even  this  form  of  service,  and  spent  her  time  in  the 


28  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

fields,  appearing  at  the  house  only  when  nature 
importunately  craved  molasses.  She  had  a  parrot- 
like  quickness,  so  far  as  music  was  concerned,  and 
learned  from  the  Roman  statuary  to  make  the  groves 
and  half-finished  houses  resound, 

"  Camicia  rossa, 
Ove  t'  ascondi? 
T'  appella  Italia,  — 
Tu  non  respond! !  " 

She  taught  the  Garibaldi  song,  moreover,  to  all 
the  neighboring  children,  so  that  I  sometimes  won- 
dered if  our  street  were  not  about  to  march  upon 
Rome  in  a  body. 

In  her  untamable  disobedience,  Naomi  alone  be- 
trayed her  sylvan  blood,  for  she  was  in  all  other 
respects  negro  and  not  Indian.  But  it  was  of 
her  aboriginal  ancestry  that  Mrs.  Johnson  chiefly 
boasted,  —  when  not  engaged  in  argument  to  main- 
tain the  superiority  of  the  African  race.  She  loved 
to  descant  upon  it  as  the  cause  and  explanation  of 
her  own  arrogant  habit  of  feeling ;  and  she  seemed 
indeed  to  have  inherited  something  of  the  Indian's 
hauteur  along  with  the  Ethiop's  supple  cunning  and 
abundant  amiability.  She  gave  many  instances  in 
which  her  pride  had  met  and  overcome  the  insolence 
of  employers,  and  the  kindly  old  creature  was  by  110 
means  singular  in  her  pride  of  being  reputed  proud. 

She  could  never  have  been  a  woman  of  strong 
logical  faculties,  but  she  had  in  some  things  a  very 
surprising  and  awful  astuteness.  She  seldom  intro- 
duced any  purpose  directly,  but  bore  all  about  it, 


MRS.   JOHNSON.  29 

and  then  suddenly  sprung  it  upon  her  unprepared 
antagonist.  At  other  times  she  obscurely  hinted  a 
reason,  and  left  a  conclusion  to  be  inferred ;  as  when 
she  warded  off  reproach  for  some  delinquency  by 
saying  in  a  general  way  that  she  had  lived  with 
ladies  who  used  to  come  scolding  into  the  kitchen 
after  they  had  taken  their  bitters.  "  Quality  ladies 
took  their  bitters  regular,"  she  added,  to  remove  any 
sting  of  personality  from  her  remark  ;  for,  from  many 
things  she  had  let  fall,  we  knew  that  she  did  not 
regard  us  as  quality.  On  the  contrary,  she  often 
tried  to  overbear  us  with  the  gentility  of  her  former 
places ;  and  would  tell  the  lady  over  whom  she 
reigned,  that  she  had  lived  with  folks  worth  their 
three  and  four  hundred  thousand  dollars,  who  never 
complained  as  she  did  of  the  ironing.  Yet  she  had 
a  sufficient  regard  for  the  literary  occupations  of  the 
family,  Mr.  Johnson  having  been  an  author.  She 
even  professed  to  have  herself  written  a  book,  which 
was  still  in  manuscript,  and  preserved  somewhere 
among  her  best  clothes. 

It  was  well,  on  many  accounts,  to  be  in  contact 
with  a  mind  so  original  and  suggestive  as  Mrs.  John- 
son's. We  loved  to  trace  its  intricate  yet  often 
transparent  operations,  and  were  perhaps  too  fond 
of  explaining  its  peculiarities  by  facts  of  ancestry,  — 
of  finding  hints  of  the  Powwow  or  the  Grand  Cus- 
tom in  each  grotesque  development.  We  were  con- 
scious of  something  warmer  in  this  old  soul  than  in 
ourselves,  and  something  wilder,  and  we  chose  to 
think  it  the  tropic  and  the  untracked  forest.  She 


30  SUBUEBAN  SKETCHES. 

had  scarcely  any  being  apart  from  her  affection ;  she 
had  no  morality,  but  was  good  because  she  neither 
hated  nor  envied ;  and  she  might  have  been  a  saint 
far  more  easily  than  far  more  civilized  people. 

There  was  that  also  in  her  sinuous  yet  malleable 
nature,  so  full  of  guile  and  so  full  of  goodness,  that 
reminded  us  pleasantly  of  lowly  folk  in  elder  lands, 
where  relaxing  oppressions  have  lifted  the  restraints 
of  fear  between  master  and  servant,  without  disturb- 
ing the  familiarity  of  their  relation.  She  advised 
freely  with  us  upon  all  household  matters,  and  took 
a  motherly  interest  in  whatever  concerned  us.  She 
could  be  flattered  or  caressed  into  almost  any  service, 
but  no  threat  or  command  could  move  her.  When 
she  erred,  she  never  acknowledged  her  wrong  in 
words,  but  handsomely  expressed  her  regrets  in  a 
pudding,  or  sent  up  her  apologies  in  a  favorite  dish 
secretly  prepared.  We  grew  so  well  used  to  this 
form  of  exculpation,  that,  whenever  Mrs.  Johnson 
took  an  afternoon  at  an  inconvenient  season,  we 
knew  that  for  a  week  afterwards  we  should  be  feasted 
like  princes.  She  owned  frankly  that  she  loved  us, 
that  she  never  had  done  half  so  much  for  people 
before,  and  that  she  never  had  been  nearly  so  well 
suited  in  any  other  place  ;  and  for  a  brief  and  happy 
time  we  thought  that  we  never  should  part. 

One  day,  however,  our  dividing  destiny  appeared 
in  the  basement,  and  was  presented  to  us  as  Hip- 
polyto  Thucydides,  the  son  of  Mrs.  Johnson,  who  had 
just  arrived  on  a  visit  to  his  mother  from  the  State 
of  New  Hampshire.  He  was  a  heavy  and  loutish 


MRS.   JOHNSON.  31 

youth,  standing  upon  the  borders  of  boyhood,  and 
looking  forward  to  the  future  with  a  vacant  and  list- 
less eye.  I  mean  that  this  was  his  figurative  atti- 
tude ;  his  actual  manner,  as  he  lolled  upon  a  chair 
beside  the  kitchen  window,  was  so  eccentric,  that  we 
felt  a  little  uncertain  how  to  regard  him,  and  Mrs. 
Johnson  openly  described  him  as  peculiar.  He  was 
so  deeply  tanned  by  the  fervid  suns  of  the  New 
Hampshire  winter,  and  his  hair  had  so  far  suffered 
from  the  example  of  the  sheep  lately  under  his 
charge,  that  he  could  not  be  classed  by  any  stretch 
of  compassion  with  the  blonde  and  straight-haired 
members  of  Mrs.  Johnson's  family. 

He  remained  with  us  all  the  first  day  until  late  in 
the  afternoon,  when  his  mother  took  him  out  to  get 
him  a  boarding-house.  Then  he  departed  in  the 
van  of  her  and  Naomi,  pausing  at  the  gate  to  collect 
his  spirits,  and,  after  he  had  sufficiently  animated 
himself  by  clapping  his  palms  together,  starting  off 
down  the  street  at  a  hand-gallop,  to  the  manifest 
terror  of  the  cows  in  the  pastures,  and  the  confusion 
of  the  less  demonstrative  people  of  our  household. 
Other  characteristic  traits  appeared  in  Hippolyto 
Thucydides  within  no  very  long  period  of  time,  and 
he  ran  away  from  his  lodgings  so  often  during  the 
summer  that  he  might  be  said  to  board  round  among 
the  outlying  corn-fields  and.turnip-patches  of  Charles- 
bridge.  As  a  check  upon  this  habit,  Mrs.  Johnson 
seemed  to  have  invited  him  to  spend  his  whole  time 
in  our  basement ;  for  whenever  we  went  below  we 
found  him  there,  balanced  —  perhaps  in  homage  to 


32  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

us,  and  perhaps  as  a  token  of  extreme  sensibility  in 
himself — upon  the  low  window-sill,  the  bottoms  of 
his  boots  touching  the  floor  inside,  and  his  face  buried 
in  the  grass  without. 

We  could  formulate  no  very  tenable  objection  to 
all  this,  and  yet  the  presence  of  Thucydides  in  our 
kitchen  unaccountably  oppressed  our  imaginations. 
We  beheld  him  all  over  the  house,  a  monstrous 
eidolon,  balanced  upon  every  window-sill ;  and  he 
certainly  attracted  unpleasant  notice  to  our  place,  no 
less  by  his  furtive  and  hang-dog  manner  of  arrival 
than  by  the  bold  displays  with  which  he  celebrated 
his  departures.  We  hinted  this  to  Mrs.  Johnson, 
but  she  could  not  enter  into  our  feeling.  Indeed,  all 
the  wild  poetry  of  her  maternal  and  primitive  nature 
seemed  to  cast  itself  about  this  hapless  boy  ;  and  if 
we  had  listened  to  her  we  should  have  believed  there 
was  no  one  so  agreeable  in  society,  or  so  quick-witted 
in  affairs,  as  Hippolyto,  when  he  chose.  She  used 
to  rehearse  us  long  epics  concerning  his  industry,  his 
courage,  and  his  talent ;  and  she  put  fine  speeches  in 
his  mouth  with  no  more  regard  to  the  truth  than  if 
she  had  been  a  historian,  and  not  a  poet.  Perhaps 
she  believed  that  he  really  said  and  did  the  things 
she  attributed  to  him  :  it  is  the  destiny  of  those  who 
repeatedly  tell  great  things  either  of  themselves  or 
others ;  and  I  think  we  may  readily  forgive  the  illu- 
sion to  her  zeal  and  fondness.  In  fact,  she  was  not 
a  wise  woman,  and  she  spoiled  her  children  as  if  she 
had  been  a  rich  one. 

At  last,  when  we  said  positively  that  Thucydides 


MRS.   JOHNSON.  33 

should  come  to  us  no  more,  and  then  qualified  the 
prohibition  by  allowing  him  to  come  every  Sunday, 
she  answered  that  she  never  would  hurt  the  child's 
feelings  bv  telling;  him  not  to  come  where  his  mother 

Ot/  O 

was  ;  that  people  who  did  not  love  her  children  did 
not  love  her;  and  that,  if  Hippy  went,  she  went. 
We  thought  it  a  master-stroke  of  firmness  to  rejoin 
that  Hippolyto  must  go  in  any  event ;  but  I  am 
bound  to  own  that  he  did  not  go,  and  that  his  mother 
stayed,  and  so  fed  us  with  every  cunning  propitiatory 
dainty,  that  we  must  have  been  Pagans  to  renew 
our  threat.  In  fact,  we  begged  Mrs.  Johnson  to  go 
into  the  country  with  us,  and  she,  after  long  reluc- 
tation  on  Hippy's  account,  consented,  agreeing  to 
send  him  away  to  friends  during  her  absence. 

We  made  every  preparation,  and  on  the  eve  of 
our  departure  Mrs.  Johnson  went  into  the  city  to 
engage  her  son's  passage  to  Bangor,  while  we  awaited 
her  return  in  untroubled  security. 

But  she  did  not  appear  till  midnight,  and  then  re- 
sponded with  but  a  sad  "  Well,  sah  !  "  to  the  cheer- 
ful "  Well,  Mrs.  Johnson!  "  that  greeted  her. 

"  All  right,  Mrs.  Johnson  ?  " 

Mrs.  Johnson  made  a  strange  noise,  half  chuckle 
and  half  death-rattle,  in  her  throat.  "  All  wrong, 
sah.  Hippy's  off  again;  and  I've  been  all  over 
the  city  after  him." 

"  Then  you  can't  go  with  us  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"  How  can  I,  sah  ?  " 

Mrs.  Johnson  went  sadly  out  of  the  room.     Then 


34  SUBUKBAN  SKETCHES. 

she  came  back  to  the  door  again,  and,  opening  it, 
uttered,  for  the  first  time  in  our  service,  words  of 
apology  and  regret :  "  I  hope  I  ha'n't  put  you  out 
any.  I  wanted  to  go  with  you,  but  I  ought  to  knowed 
I  couldn't.  All  is,  I  loved  you  too  much." 


DOORSTEP    ACQUAINTANCE. 

VAGABONDS  the  world  would  no  doubt  call  many 
of  my  doorstep  acquaintance,  and  I  do  not  attempt 
to  defend  them  altogether  against  the  world,  which 
paints  but  black  and  white  and  in  general  terms. 
Yet  I  would  fain  veil  what  is  only  half-truth  under 
another  name,  for  I  know  that  the  service  of  their 
Gay  Science  is  not  one  of  such  disgraceful  ease  as 
we  associate  with  ideas  of  vagrancy,  though  I  must 
own  that  they  lead  the  life  they  do  because  they 
love  it.  They  always  protest  that  nothing  but  their 
ignorance  of  our  tongue  prevents  them  from  practic- 
ing some  mechanical  trade.  "  What  work  could  be 
harder,"  they  ask,  "  than  carrying  this  organ  about 
all  day  ? "  but  while  I  answer  with  honesty  that 
nothing  can  be  more  irksome,  I  feel  that  they  only 
pretend  a  disgust  with  it,  and  that  they  really  like 
organ-grinding,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  they 
are  the  children  of  the  summer,  and  it  takes  them 
into  the  beloved  open  weather.  One  of  my  friends, 
at  least,  who  in  the  warmer  months  is  to  all  appear- 
ance a  blithesome  troubadour,  living 

"  A  merry  life  in  sun  and  shade," 

is  a  coal-heaver  in  winter ;  and  though  this  more 
honorable  and  useful  occupation  is  doubtless  open  to 


36  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

him  the  whole  year  round,  yet  he  does  not  devote 
himself  to  it,  but  prefers  with  the  expanding  spring 
to  lay  aside  his  grimy  basket,  and,  shouldering  his 
organ,  to  quit  the  dismal  wharves  and  carts  and  cel- 
lars, and  to  wander  forth  into  the  suburbs,  with  his 
lazy,  soft-eyed  boy  at  his  heels,  who  does  nothing 
with  his  tambourine  but  take  up  a  collection,  and 
who,  meeting  me  the  other  day  in  a  chance  passage 
of  Ferry  Street,  knew  me,  and  gave  me  so  much  of 
his  father's  personal  history. 

It  was  winter  even  there  in  Ferry  Street,  in  which 
so  many  Italians  live  that  one  might  think  to  find  it 
under  a  softer  sky  and  in  a  gentler  air,  and  which  I 
had  alwavs  figured  in  a  wide  unlikeness  to  all  other 

t/  O 

streets  in  Boston,  —  with  houses  stuccoed  outside, 
and  with  gratings  at  their  ground-floor  windows  ; 
with  mouldering  archways  between  the  buildings, 
and  at  the  corners  feeble  lamps  glimmering  before 
pictures  of  the  Madonna ;  with  weather-beaten 
shutters  flapping  overhead,  and  many  balconies  from 
which  hung  the  linen  swathings  of  young  infants, 
and  love-making  maidens  furtively  lured  the  velvet- 
jacketed,  leisurely  youth  below  :  a  place  haunted 
by  windy  voices  of  blessing  and  cursing,  with  the 
perpetual  clack  of  wooden-heeled  shoes  upon  the 
stones,  and  what  perfume  from  the  blossom  of  vines 
and  almond-trees,  mingling  with  less  delicate  smells, 
the  travelled  reader  pleases  to  imagine.  I  do  not 
say  that  I  found  Ferry  Street  actually  different  from 
this  vision  in  most  respects ;  but  as  for  the  vines  and 
almond-trees,  they  were  not  in  bloom  at  the  moment 


DOOESTEP  ACQUAINTANCE.  37 

of  my  encounter  with  the  little  tambourine-boy.  As 
we  stood  and  talked,  the  snow  fell  as  heavily  and 
thickly  around  us  as  elsewhere  in  Boston.  With  a 
vague  pain,  —  the  envy  of  a  race  toward  another 
born  to  a  happier  clime,  —  I  heard  from  him  that  his 
whole  family  was  going  back  to  Italy  in  a  month. 
The  father  had  at  last  got  together  money  enough, 
and  the  mother,  who  had  long  been  an  invalid,  must 
be  taken  home  ;  and,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  population 
of  Ferry  Street  exists  but  in  the  hope  of  a  return, 
soon  or  late,  to  the  native  or  the  ancestral  land. 

More  than  one  of  my  doorstep  acquaintance,  in 
fact,  seemed  to  have  no  other  stock  in  trade  than 
this  fond  desire,  and  to  thrive  with  it  in  our  sympa- 
thetic community.  It  is  scarcely  possible  but  the 
reader  has  met  the  widow  of  Giovanni  Cascamatto, 
a  Vesuvian  lunatic  who  has  long  set  fire  to  their 
home  on  the  slopes  of  the  volcano,  and  perished  in 
the  flames.  She  was  our  first  Italian  acquaintance 
in  Charlesbridge,  presenting  herself  with  a  little 
subscription-book  which  she  sent  in  for  inspection, 
with  a  printed  certificate  to  the  facts  of  her  history 
signed  with  the  somewhat  conventionally  Saxon 
names  of  William  Tompkins  and  John  Johnson. 
These  gentlemen  set  forth,  in  terms  vaguer  than  can 
be  reproduced,  that  her  object  in  coming  to  America 
was  to  get  money  to  go  back  to  Italy ;  and  the  whole 
document  had  so  fictitious  an  air  that  it  made  us 
doubt  even  the  nationality  of  the  bearer ;  but  we 
were  put  to  shame  by  the  decent  joy  she  manifested 
in  an  Italian  salutation.  There  was  no  longer  a 

O 


38          SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

question  of  imposture  in  anybody's  mind  ;  we  gladly 
paid  tribute  to  her  poetic  fiction,  and  she  thanked  us 
with  a  tranquil  courtesy  that  placed  the  obligation 
where  it  belonged.  As  she  turned  to  go  with  many 
good  wishes,  we  pressed  her  to  have  some  dinner, 
but  she  answered  with  a  compliment  insurpassably 
flattering,  she  had  just  dined  —  in  another  palace. 
The  truth  is,  there  is  not  a  single  palace  on  Benicia 
Street,  and  our  little  box  of  pine  and  paper  would 
hardly  have  passed  for  a  palace  on  the  stage,  where 
these  things  are  often  contrived  with  great  simplic- 
ity ;  but  as  we  had  made  a  little  Italy  together,  she 
touched  it  with  the  exquisite  politeness  of  her  race, 
and  it  became  for  the  instant  a  lordly  mansion,  stand- 
ing on  the  Chiaja,  or  the  Via  Nuovissima,  or  the 
Canalazzo. 

I  say  this  woman  seemed  glad  to  be  greeted  in 
Italian,  but  not,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  surprised  ;  and 
altogether  the  most  amazing  thing  about  my  doorstep 
acquaintance  of  her  nation  is,  that  they  are  never 
surprised  to  be  spoken  to  in  their  own  tongue,  or,  if 
they  are,  never  show  it.  A  chestnut-roaster,  who 
has  sold  me  twice  the  chestnuts  the  same  money 
would  have  bought  of  him  in  English,  has  not  other- 
wise recognized  the  fact  that  Tuscan  is  not  the  dia- 
lect of  Charlesbridge,  and  the  mortifying  nonchalance 
with  which  my  advances  have  always  been  received 
has  long  since  persuaded  me  that  to  the  grinder  at 
the  gate  it  is  not  remarkable  that  a  man  should  open 
the  door  of  his  wooden  house  on  Benicia  Street,  and 
welcome  him  in  his  native  language.  After  the  first 


DOORSTEP   ACQUAINTANCE.  39 

shock  of  this  indifference  is  past,  it  is  not  to  be  ques- 
tioned but  it  natters  with  an  illusion,  which  a  stare 
of  amazement  would  forbid,  reducing  the  encounter 
to  a  vulgar  reality  at  once,  and  I  could  almost  be- 
lieve it  in  those  wily  and  amiable  folk  to  intend  the 
sweeter  effect  of  their  unconcern,  which  tacitly  im- 
plies that  there  is  no  other  tongue  in  the  world  but 
Italian,  and  which  makes  all  the  earth  and  air  Ital- 
ian for  the  time.  Nothing  else  could  have  been  the 
purpose  of  that  image-dealer  whom  I  saw  on  a  sum- 
mer's day  lying  at  the  foot  of  one  of  our  meeting- 
houses, and  doing  his  best  to  make  it  a  cathedral, 
and  really  giving  a  sentiment  of  mediaeval  art  to  the 
noble  sculptures  of  the  facade  which  the  carpenters 
had  just  nailed  up,  freshly  painted  and  newly  re- 
paired. This  poet  was  stretched  upon  his  back, 
eating,  in  that  convenient  posture,  his  dinner  out  of 
an  earthen  pot,  plucking  the  viand  from  it,  whatever 
it  was,  with  his  thumb  and  fore-finger,  and  dropping 
it  piecemeal  into  his  mouth.  When  the  passer  asked 
him  "  Where  are  you  from?  "  he  held  a  morsel  in 
air  long  enough  to  answer  "  Da  Lucca,  signore,"  and 
then  let  it  fall  into  his  throat,  and  sank  deeper  into  a 
reverie  in  which  that  crude  accent  even  must  have 
sounded  like  a  gossip's  or  a  kinsman's  voice,  but 
never  otherwise  moved  muscle,  nor  looked  to  see 
who  passed  or  lingered.  There  could  have  been 
Jttle  else  in  his  circumstances  to  remind  him  of 
home,  and  if  he  was  really  in  the  sort  of  day-dream 
attributed  to  him,  he  was  wise  not  to  look  about  him. 
I  have  not  myself  been  in  Lucca,  but  I  conceive  that 


40  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

its  piazza  is  not  like  our  square,  with  a  pump  and 
horse-trough  in  the  midst ;  but  that  it  has  probably  a 
fountain  and  statuary,  though  not  possibly  so  mag- 
nificent an  elm  towering  above  the  bronze  or  marble 
groups  as  spreads  its  boughs  of  benison  over  our 
pump  and  the  horse-car  switchman,  loitering  near  it 
to  set  the  switch  for  the  arriving  cars,  or  lift  the 
brimming  buckets  to  the  smoking  nostrils  of  the 
horses,  while  out  from  the  stable  comes  clanging  and 
banging  with  a  fresh  team  that  famous  African  who 
has  turned  white,  or,  if  he  is  off  duty,  one  of  his 
brethren  who  has  not  yet  begun  to  turn.  Figure, 
besides,  an  expressman  watering  his  horse  at  the 
trough,  a  provision-cart  backed  up  against  the  curb 
in  front  of  one  of  the  stores,  various  people  looking 
from  the  car-office  windows,  and  a  conductor  appear- 
ing at  the  door  long  enough  to  call  out,  "  Ready  for 
Boston !  "  — and  you  have  a  scene  of  such  gayety  as 
Lucca  could  never  have  witnessed  in  her  piazza  at 
high  noon  on  a  summer's  day.  Even  our  Campo 
Santo,  if  the  Lucchese  had  cared  to  look  round  the 
corner  of  the  meeting-house  at  its  moss-grown  head 
stones,  could  have  had  little  to  remind  him  of  home, 
though  it  has  antiquity  and  a  proper  quaintness. 
But  not  for  him,  not  for  them  of  his  clime  and  faith, 
is  the  pathos  of  those  simple  memorial  slates  with 
their  winged  skulls,  changing  upon  many  later  stones, 
as  if  by  the  softening  of  creeds  and  customs,  to 
cherub's  heads,  —  not  for  him  is  the  pang  I  feel 
because  of  those  who  died,  in  our  country's  youth, 
exiles  or  exiles'  children,  heirs  of  the  wilderness  and 


DOORSTEP    ACQUAINTANCE.  41 

toil  and  hardship.  Could  they  rise  from  their  restful 
beds,  and  look  on  this  wandering  Italian  with  his 
plaster  statuettes  of  Apollo,  and  Canovan  dancers 
and  deities,  they  would  hold  his  wares  little  better 
than  Romish  saints  and  idolatries,  and  would  scarcely 
have  the  sentimental  interest  in  him  felt  by  the  mod- 
ern citizen  of  Charlesbridge  ;  but  I  think  that  even 
they  must  have  respected  that  Lombard  scissors- 
grinder  who  used  to  come  to  us,  and  put  an  edge  to 
all  the  cutlery  in  the  house. 

He  has  since  gone  back  to  Milan,  whence  he  came 
eighteen  years  ago,  and  whither  he  has  returned,  — 
as  he  told  me  one  acute  day  in  the  fall,  when  all  the 
winter  hinted  itself,  and  the  painted  leaves  shuddered 
earthward  in  the  grove  across  the  way,  — to  enjoy  a 
little  climate  before  he  died  (per  goder  un  po*  di  clima 
prima  di  morire) .  Our  climate  was  the  only  thing 
he  had  against  us ;  in  every  other  respect  he  was  a 
New-Englander,  even  to  the  early  stages  of  con- 
sumption. He  told  me  the  story  of  his  whole  life, 
and  of  how  in  his  adventurous  youth  he  had  left 
Milan  and  sojourned  some  years  in  Naples,  vainly 
seeking  his  fortune  there.  Afterwards  he  went  to 
Greece,  and  set  up  his  ancestral  business  of  green- 
grocer in  Athens,  faring  there  no  better,  but  rather 
worse  than  in  Naples,  because  of  the  deeper  wicked- 
ness of  the  Athenians,  who  cheated  him  right  and 
left,  and  whose  laws  gave'  him  no  redress.  The 
Neapolitans  were  bad  enough,  he  said,  making  a  wry 
face,  but  the  Greeks  !  —  and  he  spat  the  Greeks  out 
on  the  grass.  At  last,  after  much  misfortune  in 


42  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

Europe,  he  bethought  him  of  coming  to  America, 
and  he  had  never  regretted  it,  but  for  the  climate. 
You  spent  a  good  deal  here, — nearly  all  you  earned, 
—  but  then  a  poor  man  was  a  man,  and  the  people 
were  honest.  It  was  wonderful  to  him  that  they  all 
knew  how  to  read  and  write,  and  he  viewed  with 
inexpressible  scorn  those  Irish  who  came  to  this 
country,  and  were  so  little  sensible  of  the  benefits  it 
conferred  upon  them.  Boston  he  believed  the  best 
city  in  America,  and  "  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  is  there 
such  a  thing  anywhere  else  in  the  world  as  that 
Public  Library  ? "  He,  a  poor  man,  and  almost 
unknown,  had  taken  books  from  it  to  his  own  room, 
and  was  master  to  do  so  whenever  he  liked.  He 
had  thus  been  enabled  to  read  Botta's  history  of  the 
United  States,  an  enormous  compliment  both  to  the 
country  and  the  work  which  I  doubt  ever  to  have 
been  paid  before  ;  and  he  knew  more  about  Wash- 
ington than  I  did,  and  desired  to  know  more  than  I 
could  tell  him  of  the  financial  question  among  us. 
So  we  came  to  national  politics,  and  then  to  Euro- 
pean affairs.  "  It  appears  that  Garibaldi  will  not  go 
to  Rome  this  year,"  remarks  my  scissors-grinder, 
who  is  very  red  in  his  sympathies.  "  The  Emperor 
forbids  !  Well,  patience  !  And  that  blessed  Pope, 
what  does  he  want,  that  Pope  ?  He  will  be  king 
and  priest  both,  he  will  wear  two  pairs  of  shoes  at 
once  !  "  I  must  confess  that  no  other  of  my  door- 
step acquaintance  had  so  clear  an  idea  as  this  one  of 
the  difference  between  things  here  and  at  home.  To 
the  minds  of  most  we  seemed  divided  here  as  there 


DOORSTEP   ACQUAINTANCE.  43 

into  rich  and  poor,  —  signori^  persone  eivili^  and 
povera  gente,  —  and  their  thoughts  about  us  did  not 
go  beyond  a  speculation  as  to  our  individual  willing- 
ness or  ability  to  pay  for  organ-grinding.  But  this 
Lombard  was  worthy  of  his  adopted  country,  and  I 
forgive  him  the  frank  expression  of  a  doubt  that  one 
day  occurred  to  him,  when  offered  a  glass  of  Italian 
wine.  He  held  it  daintily  between  him  and  the  sun 
for  a  smiling  moment,  and  then  said,  as  if  our  wine 
must  needs  be  as  ungenuine  as  our  Italian,  —  was 
perhaps  some  expression  from  the  surrounding  cur- 
rant-bushes, harsh  as  that  from  the  Northern  tongues 
which  could  never  give  his  language  the  true  life 
and  tonic  charm,  —  "  But  I  suppose  this  wine  is  not 
made  of  grapes,  signor  ?  "  Yet  he  was  a  very  cour- 
teous old  man,  elaborate  in  greeting  and  leave-taking, 
and  with  a  quicker  sense  than  usual.  It  was  ac- 
counted delicacy  in  him,  that,  when  he  had  bidden 
us  a  final  adieu,  he  should  never  come  near  us  again, 
though  the  date  of  his  departure  was  postponed  some 
weeks,  and  we  heard  him  tinkling  down  the  street, 
and  stopping  at  the  neighbors'  houses.  He  was  a 
keen-faced,  thoughtful-looking  man ;  and  he  wore  a 
blouse  of  blue  cotton,  from  the  pocket  of  which 
always  dangled  the  leaves  of  some  wild  salad  culled 
from  our  wasteful  vacant  lots  or  prodigal  waysides. 

Altogether  different  in  character  was  that  Triest- 
ine,  who  came  one  evening  to  be  helped  home  at  the 
close  of  a  very  disastrous  career  in  Mexico.  He 
was  a  person  of  innumerable  bows,  and  fluttered 
his  bright-colored  compliments  about,  till  it  appeared 


44  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

that  never  before  had  such  amiable  people  been 
asked  charity  by  such  a  worthy  and  generous  suf- 
ferer. In  Trieste  he  had  been  a  journalist,  and  it 
was  evident  enough  from  his  speech  that  he  was  of 
a  good  education.  He  was  vain  of  his  Italian  accent, 
which  was  peculiarly  good  for  his  heterogeneously 
peopled  native  city  ;  and  he  made  a  show  of  that 
marvelous  facility  of  the  Triestines  in  languages,  by 
taking  me  down  French  books,  Spanish  books,  Ger- 
man books,  and  reading  from  them  all  with  the  prop- 
erest  accent.  Yet  with  this  boyish  pride  and  self- 
satisfaction  there  was  mixed  a  tone  of  bitter  and 
worldly  cynicism,  a  belief  in  fortune  as  the  sole 
providence.  As  nearly  as  I  could  make  out,  he 
was  a  Johnson  man  in  American  politics ;  upon  the 
Mexican  question  he  was  independent,  disdaining 
French  and  Mexicans  alike.  He  was  with  the  for- 
mer from  the  first,  and  had  continued  in  the  service 
of  Maximilian  after  their  withdrawal,  till  the  execu- 
tion of  that  prince  made  Mexico  no  place  for  adven- 
turous merit,  He  was  now  going  back  to  his  native 
country,  an  ungrateful  land  enough,  which  had  ill 
treated  him  long  ago,  but  to  which  he  nevertheless 
returned  in  a  perfect  gayety  of  temper.  What  a 
light-hearted  rogue  he  was,  —  with  such 'merry  eyes, 
and  such  a  pleasant  smile  shaping  his  neatly  trimmed 
beard  and  mustache  !  After  he  had  supped,  and  he 
stood  with  us  at  the  door  taking  leave,  something 
happened  to  be  said  of  Italian  songs,  whereupon  this 
blithe  exile,  whom  the  compassion  of  strangers  was 
enabling  to  go  home  after  many  years  of  unprofitable 


DOORSTEP   ACQUAINTANCE.  45 

toil  and  danger  to  a  country  that  had  loved  him  not, 
fell  to  caroling  a  Venetian  barcarole,  and  went 
sweetly  away  in  its  cadence.  I  bore  him  company 
as  far  as  the  gate  of  another  Italian-speaking  signer, 
and  was  there  bidden  adieu  with  great  effusion,  so 
that  I  forgot  till  he  had  left  me  to  charge  him  not  to 
be  in  fear  of  the  house-dog,  which  barked  but  did 
not  bite.  In  calling  this  after  him,  I  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  blunder  in  my  verb.  A  man  of  another 
nation  —  perhaps  another  man  of  his  own  nation  — 
would  have  cared  rather  for  what  I  said  than  how  I 
said  it ;  but  he,  as  if  too  zealous  for  the  honor  of  his 
beautiful  language  to  endure  a  hurt  to  it  even  in  that 
moment  of  grief,  lifting  his  hat,  and  bowing  for  the 
last  time,  responded  with  a  "  Morde,  non  morsica, 
signore  !  "  and  passed  in  under  the  pines,  and  next 
day  to  Italy. 

There  is  a  little  old  Genoese  lady  comes  to  sell  us 
pins,  needles,  thread,  tape,  and  the  like  roba,  whom 
I  regard  as  leading  quite  an  ideal  life  in  some  re- 
spects. Her  traffic  is  limited  to  a  certain  number  of 
families  who  speak  more  or  less  Italian  ;  and  her 
days,  so  far  as  they  are  concerned,  must  be  passed 
in  an  atmosphere  of  sympathy  and  kindliness.  The 
truth  is,  we  Northern  and  New  World  folk  cannot 
help  but  cast  a  little  romance  about  whoever  comes 
to  us  from  Italy,  whether  We  have  actually  known 
the  beauty  and  charm  of  that  land  or  not.  Then 
this  old  lady  is  in  herself  a  very  gentle  and  lovable 
kind  of  person,  with  a  tender  mother-face,  which  is 
also  the  face  of  a  child.  A  smile  plays  always  upon 


46  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

her  wrinkled  visage,  and  her  quick  and  restless  eyes 
are  full  of  friendliness.  There  is  never  much  stuff 
in  her  basket,  however,  and  it  is  something  of  a  mys- 
tery how  she  manages  to  live  from  it.  None  but  an 
Italian  could,  I  am  sure ;  and  her  experience  must 
test  the  full  virtue  of  the  national  genius  for  cheap 
salads  and  much-extenuated  soup-meat.  I  do  not 
know  whether  it  is  native  in  her,  or  whether  it  is  a 
grace  acquired  from  long  dealing  with  those  kindly- 
hearted  customers  of  hers  in  Charlesbridge,  but  she 
is  of  a  most  munificent  spirit,  and  returns  every 
smallest  benefit  with  some  present  from  her  basket. 
She  makes  me  ashamed  of  things  I  have  written 
about  the  sordidness  of  her  race,  but  I  shall  vainly 
seek  to  atone  for  them  by  open-handedness  to  her. 
She  will  give  favor  for  favor;  she  will  not  even 
count  the  money  she  receives  ;  our  bargaining  is  a 
contest  of  the  courtliest  civilities,  ending  in  many 
an  "  Adieu ! "  "  To  meet  again ! "  "  Remain  well !  " 
and  "  Finally !  "  not  surpassed  if  rivaled  in  any 
Italian  street.  In  her  ineffectual  way,  she  brings 
us  news  of  her  different  customers,  breaking  up  their 
stout  Saxon  names  into  tinkling  polysyllables  which 
suggest  them  only  to  the  practiced  sense,  and  is  per- 
fectly patient  and  contented  if  we  mistake  one  for 
another.  She  loves  them  all,  but  she  pities  them  as 
living  in  a  terrible  climate ;  and  doubtless  in  her 
heart  she  purposes  one  day  to  go  back  to  Italy,  there 
to  die.  In  the  mean  time  she  is  very  cheerful ;  she, 
too,  has  had  her  troubles,  —  what  troubles  I  do  not 
remember,  but  those  that  come  by  sickness  and  by 


DOORSTEP   ACQUAINTANCE.  47 

death,  and  that  really  seem  no  sorrows  until  they 
come  to  us,  —  yet  she  never  complains.  It  is  hard 
to  make  a  living,  and  the  house-rent  alone  is  six  dol- 
lars a  month ;  but  still  one  lives,  and  does  not  fare 
so  ill  either.  As  it  does  not  seem  to  be  in  her  to 
dislike  any  one,  it  must  be  out  of  a  harmless  guile, 
felt  to  be  comforting  to  servant-ridden  householders, 
that  she  always  speaks  of  "  those  Irish,"  her  neigh- 
bors, with  a  bated  breath,  a  shaken  head,  a  hand 
lifted  to  the  cheek,  and  an  averted  countenance. 

Swarthiest  of  the  organ-grinding  tribe  is  he  who 
peers  up  at  my  window  out  of  infinitesimal  black 
eyes,  perceives  me,  louts  low,  and  for  form's  sake 
grinds  me  out  a  tune  before  he  begins  to  talk.  As 
we  parley  together,  say  it  is  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
forenoon,  and  a  sober  tranquillity  reigns  upon  the 
dust  and  nodding  weeds  of  Benicia  Street.  At  that 
hour  the  organ-grinder  and  I  are  the  only  persons 
of  our  sex  in  the  whole  suburban  population  ;  all 
other  husbands  and  fathers  having  eaten  their  break- 
fasts at  seven  o'clock,  and  stood  up  in  the  early 
horse-cars  to  Boston,  whence  they  will  return,  with 
aching  backs  and  quivering  calves,  half-pendant  by 
leathern  straps  from  the  roofs  of  the  same  luxurious 
conveyances,  in  the  evening.  The  Italian  might  go 
and  grind  his  organ  upon  the  front  stoop  of  any  one 
of  a  hundred  French-roof  houses  around,  and  there 
would  be  no  arm  within  strong  enough  to  thrust  him 
thence  ;  but  he  is  a  gentleman  in  his  way,  and,  as 
he  prettily  explains,  he  never  stops  to  play  except 
where  the  window  smiles  on  him  :  a  frowning  lattice 


48  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

lie  will  pass  in  silence.  I  behold  in  him  a  disap- 
pointed man,  —  a  man  broken  in  health,  and  of  a 
liver  baked  by  long  sojourn  in  a  tropical  clime.  In 
large  and  dim  outline,  made  all  the  dimmer  by  his 
dialect,  he  sketches  me  the  story  of  his  life  ;  how  in 
his  youth  he  ran  away  from  the  Milanese  for  love 
of  a  girl  in  France,  who,  dying,  left  him  with  so 
little  purpose  in  the  world  that,  after  working  at  his 
trade  of  plasterer  for  some  years  in  Lyons,  he  lis- 
tened to  a  certain  gentleman  going  out  upon  govern- 
ment service  to  a  French  colony  in  South  America. 
This  gentleman  wanted  a  man-servant,  and  he  said 
to  my  organ-grinder,  "  Go  with  me  and  I  make  your 
fortune."  So  he,  who  cared  not  whither  he  went, 
went,  and  found  himself  in  the  tropics.  It  was  a 
hard  life  he  led  there ;  and  of  the  wages  that  had 
seemed  so  great  in  France,  he  paid  nearly  half  to 
his  laundress  alone,  being  forced  to  be  neat  in  his 
master's  house.  The  service  was  not  so  irksome 
in-doors,  but  it  was  the  hunting  beasts  in  the  forest 
all  day  that  broke  his  patience  at  last. 

"  Beasts  in  the  forest  ?  "  I  ask,  forgetful  of  the 
familiar  sense  of  bestie,  and  figuring  cougars  at  least 
by  the  word. 

"  Yes,  those  little  beasts  for  the  naturalists,  — flies, 
bugs,  beetles,  —  Heaven  knows  what." 

"  But  this  brought  you  money  ?  " 

"  It  brought  my  master  money,  but  me  aches  and 
pains  as  many  as  you  will,  and  at  last  the  fever. 
When  that  was  burnt  out,  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
ask  for  more  pay,  and,  not  getting  it,  to  quit  that 


DOOKSTEP   ACQUAINTANCE.  49 

service.  I  think  the  signer  would  have  given  it,  — 
but  the  signora !  So  I  left,  empty  as  I  came,  and 
was  cook  on  a  vessel  to  New  York." 

This  was  the  black  and  white  of  the  man's  story. 
I  lose  the  color  and  atmosphere  which  his  manner  as 
well  as  his  words  bestowed  upon  it.  He  told  it  in  a 
cheerful,  impersonal  kind  of  way  as  the  romance  of 
a  poor  devil  which  had  interested  him,  and  might 
possibly  amuse  me,  leaving  out  no  touch  of  character 
in  his  portrait  of  the  fat,  selfish  master,  —  yielding 
enough,  however,  but  for  his  grasping  wife,  who, 
with  all  her  avarice  and  greed,  he  yet  confessed  to 
be  very  handsome.  By  the  wave  of  a  handle 
housed  them  in  a-  tropic  residence,  dim,  cool,  close 
shut,  kept  by  servants  in  white  linen  moving  with 
mute  slippered  feet  over  stone  floors  ;  and  by  another 
gesture  he  indicated  the  fierce  thorny  growths  of  the 
forest  in  which  he  hunted  those  vivid  insects,  —  the 
luxuriant  savannas,  the  gigantic  ferns  and  palms, 
the  hush  and  shining  desolation,  the  presence  of  the 
invisible  fever  and  death.  There  was  a  touch,  too, 
of  inexpressible  sadness  in  his  half-ignorant  mention 
of  the  exiles  at  Cayenne,  who  were  forbidden  the 
wide  ocean  of  escape  about  them  by  those  swift  gun- 
boats keeping  their  coasts  and  swooping  down  upon 
every  craft  that  left  the  shore.  He  himself  had  seen 
one  such  capture,  and  he  made  me  see  it,  and  the 
mortal  despair  of  the  fugitives,  standing  upright  in 
their  boat  with  the  idle  oars  in  their  unconscious 
hands,  while  the  corvette  swept  toward  them. 

For  all  his  misfortunes,  he  was  not  cast  down. 
4 


50  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

He  had  that  lightness  of  temper  which  seems  proper 
to  most  northern  Italians,  whereas  those  from  the 
south  are  usually  dark-mooded,  sad-faced  men. 
Nothing  surpasses  for  unstudied  misanthropy  of 
expression  the  visages  of  different  Neapolitan  harpers 
who  have  visited  us ;  but  they  have  some  right  to 
their  dejected  countenances  as  being  of  a  yet  half- 
civilized  stock,  and  as  real  artists  and  men  of  genius. 
Nearly  all  wandering  violinists,  as  well  as  harpers, 
are  of  their  race,  and  they  are  of  every  age,  from 
that  of  mere  children  to  men  in  their  prime.  They 
are  very  rarely  old,  as  many  of  the  organ-grinders 
are ;  they  are  not  so  handsome  as  the  Italians  of  the 
north,  though  they  have  invariably  fine  eyes.  They 
arrive  in  twos  and  threes  ;  the  violinist  briefly  tunes 
his  fiddle,  and  the  harper  unslings  his  instrument, 
and,  with  faces  of  profound  gloom,  they  go  through 
their  repertory,  —  pieces  from  the  great  composers, 
airs  from  the  opera,  not  unmingled  with  such  efforts 
of  Anglo-Saxon  genius  as  Champagne  Charley  and 
Captain  Jenks  of  the  Horse  Marines,  which,  like  the 
language  of  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  hold  us  and 
our  English  cousins  in  tender  bonds  of  mutual  affec- 
tion. Beyond  the  fact  that  they  come  "  dal  Basili- 
cat\"  or  "  dal  Principat',"  one  gets  very  little  out 
of  these  Neapolitans,  though  I  dare  say  they  are 
not  so  surly  at  heart  as  they  look.  Money  does  not 
brighten  them  to  the  eye,  but  yet  it  touches  them, 
and  they  are  good  in  playing  or  leaving  off  to  him 
that  pays.  Long  time  two  of  them  stood  between 
the  gateway  firs  on  a  pleasant  summer's  afternoon, 


DOORSTEP    ACQUAINTANCE.  51 

and  twanged  and  scraped  their  harmonious  strings, 
till  all  the  idle  boys  of  the  neighborhood  gathered 
about  them,  listening  with  a  grave  and  still  delight. 
It  was  a  most  serious  company :  the  Neapolitans, 
with  their  cloudy  brows,  rapt  in  their  music ;  and  the 
Yankee  children,  with  their  impassive  faces,  warily 
guarding  against  the  faintest  expression  of  enjoy- 
ment; and  when  at  last  the  minstrels  played  a  brisk 
measure,  and  the  music  began  to  work  in  the  blood 
of  the  boys,  and  one  of  them  shuffling  his  reluctant 
feet  upon  the  gravel,  broke  into  a  sudden  and  resist- 
less dance,  the  spectacle  became  too  sad  for  con- 
templation. The  boy  danced  only  from  the  hips 
down  ;  no  expression  of  his  face  gave  the  levity 
sanction,  nor  did  any  of  his  comrades :  they  beheld 
him  with  a  silent  fascination,  but  none  was  infected 
by  the  solemn  indecorum ;  and  when  the  legs  and 
music  ceased  their  play  together,  no  comment  was 
made,  and  the  dancer  turned  unheated  away.  A 
chance  passer  asked  for  what  he  called  the  Geary- 
baldeye  Hymn,  but  the  Neapolitans  apparently  did 
not  know  what  this  was. 

My  doorstep  acquaintance  were  not  all  of  one  race ; 
now  and  then  an  alien  to  the  common  Italian  tribe 
appeared,  —  an  Irish  soldier,  on  his  way  to  Salem, 
and  willing  to  show  me  more  of  his  mutilation  than 
I  cared  to  buy  the  sight  of  .for  twenty-five  cents ; 
and  more  rarely  yet  an  American,  also  formerly  of 
the  army,  but  with  something  besides  his  wretched- 
ness to  sell.  On  the  hottest  day  of  last  summer  such 
a  one  rang  the  bell,  and  was  discovered  on  the  thresh- 


52  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

old  wiping  with  his  poor  sole  hand  the  sweat  that 
stood  upon  his  forehead.  There  was  still  enough  of 
the  independent  citizen  in  his  maimed  and  emaciated 
person  to  inspire  him  with  deliberation  and  a  show 
of  that  indifference  with  which  we  Americans  like  to 
encounter  each  other ;  but  his  voice  was  rather  faint 
when  he  asked  if  I  supposed  we  wanted  any  starch 
to-day. 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  answered  what  heart  there  was 
within,  taking  note  willfully,  but  I  hope  not  wantonly, 
what  an  absurdly  limp  figure  he  was  for  a  peddler  of 
starch,  —  "certainly  from  you,  brave  fellow;"  and 
the  package  being  taken  from  his  basket,  the  man 
turned  to  go  away,  so  very  wearily,  that  a  cheap  phi- 
lanthropy protested :  "  For  shame  !  ask  him  to  sit 
down  in-doors  and  drink  a  glass  of  water.'5 

"  No,"  answered  the  poor  fellow,  when  this  indig- 
nant voice  had  been  obeyed,  and  he  had  been  taken 
at  a  disadvantage,  and  as  it  were  surprised  into  the 
confession,  "  my  family  hadn't  any  breakfast  this 
morning,  and  I've  got  to  hurry  back  to  them." 

"  Haven't  you  had  any  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  wa'n't  rightly  hungry  when  I  left  the 
house." 

"  Here,  now,"  popped  in  the  virtue  before  named, 
"  is  an  opportunity  to  discharge  the  debt  we  all  owe 
to  the  brave  fellows  who  gave  us  back  our  country. 
Make  it  beer." 

So  it  was  made  beer  and  bread  and  cold  meat, 
and,  after  a  little  pressing,  the  honest  soul  consented 
to  the  refreshment.  He  sat  down  in  a  cool  doorway, 


DOORSTEP  ACQUAINTANCE.  53 

and  began  to  eat  and  to  tell  of  the  fight  before 
Vicksburg.  And  if  you  have  never  seen  a  one- 
armed  soldier  making  a  meal,  I  can  assure  you  the 
sight  is  a  pathetic  one,  and  is  rendered  none  the 
cheerfuller  by  his  memories  of  the  fights  that  muti- 
lated him.  This  man  had  no  very  susceptible  audi- 
ence, but  before  he  was  carried  off  the  field,  shot 
through  the  body,  and  in  the  arm  and  foot,  he  had 
sold  every  package  of  starch  in  his  basket.  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  this  now,  for  I  suspect  that  a  man 
with  one  arm,  who  indulged  himself  in  going  about 
under  that  broiling  sun  of  July,  peddling  starch,  was 
very  probably  an  impostor.  He  computed  a  good 
day's  profits  of  seventy-five  cents,  and  when  asked 
if  that  was  not  very  little  for  the  support  of  a  sick 
wife  and  three  children,  he  answered  with  a  quaint 
effort  at  impressiveness,  and  with  a  trick,  as  I  im- 
agined, from  the  manner  of  the  regimental  chaplain, 
"You've  done  your  duty,  my  friend,  and  more'n 
your  duty.  If  every  one  did  their  duty  like  that,  we 
should  get  along."  So  he  took  leave,  and  shambled 
out  into  the  furnace-heat,  the  sun  beating  upon  his 
pale  face,  and  his  linen  coat  hugging  him  close,  but 
with  his  basket  lighter,  and  I  hope  his  heart  also. 
At  any  rate,  this  was  the  sentiment  which  cheap  phi- 
lanthropy offered  in  self-gratulation,  as  he  passed  out 
of  sight :  "  There  !  you  are  quits  with  those  maimed 
soldiers  at  last,  and  you  have  a  country  which  you 
have  paid  for  with  cold  victuals  as  they  with  blood." 
We  have  been  a  good  deal  visited  by  one  dis- 
banded volunteer,  not  to  the  naked  eye  maimed,  nor 


54  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

apparently  suffering  from  any  lingering  illness,  yet 
who  bears,  as  he  tells  me,  a  secret  disabling  wound 
in  his  side  from  a  spent  shell,  and  who  is  certainly  a 
prey  to  the  most  acute  form  of  shiftlessness.  I  do 
not  recall  with  exactness  the  date  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, but  it  was  one  of  those  pleasant  August  after- 
noons when  a  dinner  eaten  in  peace  fills  the  di- 
gester with  a  millennial  tenderness  for  the  race  too 
rarely  felt  in  the  nineteenth  century.  At  such  a 
moment  it  is  a  more  natural  action  to  loosen  than  to 
tighten  the  purse-strings,  and  when  a  very  neatly 
dressed  young  man  presented  himself  at  the  gate, 
and,  in  a  note  of  indescribable  plaintiveness,  asked 
if  I  had  any  little  job  for  him  to  do  that  he  might 
pay  for  a  night's  lodging,  I  looked  about  the  small 
domain  with  a  vague  longing  to  find  some  part  of  it 
in  disrepair,  and  experienced  a  moment's  absurd 
relief  when  he  hinted  that  he  would  be  willing  to 
accept  fifty  cents  in  pledge  of  future  service.  Yet 
this  was  not  the  right  principle  :  some  work,  real  or 
apparent,  must  be  done  for  the  money,  and  the 
veteran  was  told  that  he  might  weed  the  strawberry 
bed,  though,  as  matters  then  stood,  it  was  clean 
enough  for  a  strawberry  bed  that  never  bore  any- 
thing. The  veteran  was  neatly  dressed,  as  I  have 
said  :  his  coat,  which  was  good,  was  buttoned  to  the 
throat  for  reasons  that  shall  be  sacred  against  curios- 
ity, and  he  had  on  a  perfectly  clean  paper  collar  ;  he 
was  a  handsome  young  fellow,  with  regular  features, 
and  a  solicitously  kept  imperial  and  mustache  ;  his 
hair,  when  he  lifted  his  hat,  appeared  elegantly  oiled 


DOORSTEP  ACQUAINTANCE.  55 

and  brushed.  I  did  not  hope  from  this  figure  that 
the  work  done  would  be  worth  the  money  paid,  and, 
as  nearly  as  I  can  compute,  the  weeds  he  took  from 
that  bed  cost  me  a  cent  apiece,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
cup  of  tea  given  him  in  grace  at  the  end  of  his 
labors. 

My  acquaintance  was,  as  the  reader  will  be  glad 
to  learn,  a  native  American,  though  it  is  to  be  re- 
gretted, for  the  sake  of  facts  which  his  case  went  far 
to  establish,  that  he  was  not  a  New-Englander  by 
birth.  The  most  that  could  be  claimed  was,  that  he 
came  to  Boston  from  Delaware  when  very  young, 
and  that  there  on  that  brine-washed  granite  he  had 
grown  as  perfect  a  flower  of  helplessness  and  indo- 
lence, as  fine  a  fruit  of  maturing  civilization,  as  ever 
expanded  or  ripened  in  Latin  lands.  He  lived,  not 
only  a  protest»in  flesh  and  blood  against  the  tendency 
of  democracy  to  exclude  mere  beauty  from  our  sys- 
tem, but  a  refutation  of  those  Old  World  observers, 
who  deny  to  our  vulgar  and  bustling  communities 
the  refining  and  elevating  grace  of  Repose.  There 
was  something  very  curious  and  original  in  his 
character,  from  which  the  sentiment  of  shame  was 
absent,  but  which  was  not  lacking  in  the  fine  in- 
stincts of  personal  cleanliness,  of  dress,  of  style. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  rowdy  in  him ;  he  was 
gentle  as  an  Italian  noble  in  his  manners:  what 
other  traits  they  may  have  had  in  common,  I  do  not 
know  ;  perhaps  an  amiable  habit  of  illusion.  He 
was  always  going  to  bring  me  his  discharge  papers, 
but  he  never  did,  though  he  came  often  and  had 


56  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

many  a  pleasant  night's  sleep  at  my  cost.  If  some- 
times lie  did  a  little  work,  he  spent  great  part  of  the 
time  contracted  to  me  in  the  kitchen,  where  it  was 
understood,  quite  upon  his  own  agency,  that  his 
wages  included  board.  At  other  times,  he  called  for 
money  too  late  in  the  evening  to  work  it  out  that 
day,  and  it  has  happened  that  a  new  second  girl, 
deceived  by  his  genteel  appearance  in  the  uncertain 
light,  has  shown  him  into  the  parlor,  where  I  have 
found  him  to  his  and  my  own  great  amusement,  as 
the  gentleman  who  wanted  to  see  me.  Nothing  else 
seemed  to  raise  his  ordinarily  dejected  spirits  so  much. 
We  all  know  how  pleasant  it  is  to  laugh  at  people  be- 
hind their  backs ;  but  this  veteran  afforded  me  at  a 
very  low  rate  the  luxury  of  a  fellow-being  whom  one 
might  laugh  at  to  his  face  as  much  as  one  liked. 

Yet  with  all  his  shamelessness,  his  pensiveness,  his 
elegance,  I  felt  that  somehow  our  national  triumph 
was  not  complete  in  him,  — that  there  were  yet  more 
finished  forms  of  self-abasement  in  the  Old  World, 
till  one  day  I  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  at  a 
little  distance  my  veteran  digging  a  cellar  for  an 
Irishman.  I  own  that  the  spectacle  gave  me  a  shock 
of  pleasure,  and  that  I  ran  down  to  have  a  nearer 
view  of  what  human  eyes  have  seldom,  if  ever,  be- 
held, —  an  American,  pure  blood,  handling  the  pick, 
the  shovel,  and  the  wheelbarrow,  while  an  Irishman 
directed  his  labors.  Upon  inspection,  it  appeared 
that  none  of  the  trees  grew  with  their  roots  in  the 
air,  in  recognition  of  this  great  reversal  of  the 
natural  law ;  all  the  French-roof  houses  stood  right 


DOOESTEP  ACQUAINTANCE.  57 

side  up.  The  phenomenon  may  become  more  com- 
mon in  future,  unless  the  American  race  accom- 
plishes its  destiny  of  dying  out  before  the  more  pop- 
ulatory  foreigner,  but  as  yet  it  graced  the  veteran 
with  an  exquisite  and  signal  distinction.  He,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  feel  unpleasantly  the  anomaly  of  his 
case,  and  opened  the  conversation  by  saying  that  he 
should  not  work  at  that  job  to-morrow,  it  hurt  his 
side  ;  and  went  on  to  complain  of  the  inhumanity  of 
Americans  to  Americans.  "  Why,"  said  he,  "they'd 
rather  give  out  their  jobs  to  a  nigger  than  to  one  of 
their  own  kind.  I  was  beatin'  carpets  for  a  gentle- 
man on  the  Avenue,  and  the  first  thing  I  know  he 
give  most  of  'em  to  a  nigger.  .  I  beat  seven  of  'em 
in  one  day,  and  got  two  dollars ;  and  the  nigger  beat 
'em  by  the  piece,  and  he  got  a  dollar  an'  a  half 
apiece.  My  luck  !  " 

Here  the  Irishman  glanced  at  his  hireling,  and  the 
rueful  veteran  hastened  to  pile  up  another  wheel- 
barrow with  earth.  If  ever  we  come  to  reverse 
positions  generally  with  our  Irish  brethren,  there  is 
no  doubt  but  they  will  get  more  work  out  of  us  than 
we  do  from  them  at  present. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  the  veteran  offered  to 
do  second  girl's  work  in  my  house  if  I  would  take 
him.  The  place  was  not  vacant ;  and  as  the  sum- 
mer was  now  drawing  to  a  close,  and  I  feared  to  be 
left  with  him  on  my  hands  for  the  winter,  it  seemed 
well  to  speak  to  him  upon  the  subject  of  economy. 
The  next  time  he  called,  I  had  not  about  me  the 
exact  sum  for  a  night's  lodging,  —  fifty  cents,  namely, 


58  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

—  and  asked  him  if  he  thought  a  dollar  would  do. 
He  smiled  sadly,  as  if  he  did  not  like  jesting  upon 
such  a  very  serious  subject,  but  said  he  allowed  to 
work  it  out,  and  took  it. 

"  Now,  I  hope  you  won't  think  I  am  interfering 
with  your  affairs,"  said  his  benefactor,  "  but  I  really 
think  you  are  a  very  poor  financier.  According  to 
your  own  account,  you  have  been  going  on  from 
year  to  year  for  a  long  time,  trusting  to  luck  for  a 
night's  lodging.  Sometimes  I  suppose  you  have  to 
sleep  out-of-doors." 

"  No,  never  !  "  answered  the  veteran,  with  some- 
thing like  scorn.  "I  never  sleep  out-doors.  I 
wouldn't  do  it." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  some  one  has  to  pay  for  your 
lodging.  Don't  you  think  you'd  come  cheaper  to 
your  friends,  if,  instead  of  going  to  a  hotel  every 
night,  you'd  take  a  room  somewhere,  and  pay  for  it 
by  the  month?" 

"  I've  thought  of  that.  If  I  could  get  a  good  bed, 
I'd  try  it  awhile  anyhow.  You  see  the  hotels  have 
raised.  I  used  to  get  a  lodgin'  and  a  nice  breakfast 
for  a  half  a  dollar,  but  now  it  is  as  much  as  you  can 
do  to  get  a  lodgin'  for  the  money,  and  it's  just  as 
dear  in  the  Port  as  it  is  in  the  city.  I've  tried  hotels 
pretty  much  everywhere,  and  one's  about  as  bad  as 
another." 

If  he  had  been  a  travelled  Englishman  writing  a 
book,  he  could  not  have  spoken  of  hotels  with  greater 
disdain. 

"  You  see,  the  trouble  with  me  is,  I  ain't  got  any 


DOORSTEP  ACQUAINTANCE.  59 

relations  around  here.  Now,"  he  added,  with  the 
life  and  eagerness  of  an  inspiration,  "  if  I  had  a 
mother  and  sister  livin'  down  at  the  Port,  say,  I 
wouldn't  go  hunting  about  for  these  mean  little  jobs 
everywheres.  I'd  just  lay  round  home,  and  wait  till 
something  come  up  big.  What  I  want  is  a  home." 

At  the  instigation  of  a  malignant  spirit  I  asked 
the  homeless  orphan,  "  Why  don't  you  get  married, 
then?" 

He  gave  me  another  smile,  sadder,  fainter,  sweeter 
than  before,  and  said :  "  When  would  you  like  to  see 
me  again,  so  I  could  work  out  this  dollar  ?  " 

A  sudden  and  unreasonable  disgust  for  the  charac- 
ter which  had  given  me  so  much  entertainment  suc- 
ceeded to  my  past  delight.  I  felt,  moreover,  that  I 
had  bought  the  right  to  use  some  frankness  with  the 
veteran,  and  I  said  to  him  :  "  Do  you  know  now,  I 
shouldn't  care  if  I  never  saw  you  again  ?  " 

I  can  only  conjecture  that  he  took  the  confidence 
in  good  part,  for  he  did  not  appear  again  after  that. 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR. 

WALKING  for  walking's  sake  I  do  not  like.  The 
diversion  appears  to  me  one  of  the  most  factitious 
of  modern  enjoyments;  and  I  cannot  help  looking 
upon  those  who  pace  their  five  miles  in  the  teeth  of 
a  north  wind,  and  profess  to  come  home  all  the  live- 
lier and  better  for  it,  as  guilty  of  a  venial  hypocrisy. 
It  is  in  nature  that  after  such  an  exercise  the  bones 
should  ache  and  the  flesh  tremble ;  and  I  suspect 
that  these  harmless  pretenders  are  all  the  while  pay- 
ing a  secret  penalty  for  their  bravado.  With  a 
pleasant  end  in  view,  or  with  cheerful  companion- 
ship, walking  is  far  from  being  the  worst  thing  in 
life ;  though  doubtless  a  truly  candid  person  must 
confess  that  he  would  rather  ride  under  the  same 
circumstances.  Yet  it  is  certain  that  some  sort  of 
recreation  is  necessary  after  a  day  spent  within  doors ; 
and  one  is  really  obliged  nowadays  to  take  a  little 
walk  instead  of  medicine  ;  for  one's  doctor  is  sure  to 
have  a  mania  on  the  subject,  and  there  is  no  more 
getting  pills  or  powders  out  of  him  for  a  slight  indi- 
gestion than  if  they  had  all  been  shot  away  at  the 
rebels  during  the  war.  For  this  reason  I  sometimes 
go  upon  a  pedestrian  tour,  which  is  of  no  great  ex- 
tent in  itself,  and  which  I  moreover  modify  by  keep- 
ing always  within  sound  of  the  horse-car  bells,  or 
easy  reach  of  some  steam-car  station. 


A  PEDESTEIAN  TOUK.  61 

I  fear  that  I  should  find  these  rambles  dull,  but 
that  their  utter  lack  of  interest  amuses  me.  I  will 
be  honest  with  the  reader,  though,  and  any  Master 
Pliable  is  free  to  forsake  me  at  this  point ;  for  I 
cannot  promise  to  be  really  livelier  than  my  walk. 
There  is  a  Slough  of  Despond  in  full  view,  and  not 
a  Delectable  Mountain  to  be  seen,  unless  you  choose 
so  to  call  the  high  lands  about  Waltham,  which  we 
shall  behold  dark  blue  against  the  western  sky  pres- 
ently. As  I  sally  forth  upon  Benicia  Street,  the 
whole  suburb  of  Charlesbridge  stretches  about  me, 
—  a  vast  space  upon  which  I  can  embroider  any 
fancy  I  like  as  I  saunter  along.  I  have  no  associa- 
tions with  it,  or  memories  of  it,  and,  at  some  seasons, 
I  might  wander  for  days  in  the  most  frequented  parts 
of  it,  and  meet  hardly  any  one  I  know.  It  is  not, 
however,  to  these  parts  that  I  commonly  turn,  but 
northward,  up  a  street  upon  which  a  flight  of  French- 
roof  houses  suddenly  settled  a  year  or  two  since,  with 
families  in  them,  and  many  outward  signs  of  per- 
manence, though  their  precipitate  arrival  might  cast 
some  doubt  upon  this.  I  have  to  admire  their  uni- 
form neatness  and  prettiness,  and  I  look  at  their 
dormer-windows  with  the  envy  of  one  to  whose 
weak  sentimentality  dormer-windows  long  appeared 
the  supreme  architectural  happiness.  But,  for  all 
my  admiration  of  the  houses,  I  find  a  variety  that  is 
pleasanter  in  the  landscape,  when  I  reach,  beyond 
them,  a  little  bridge  which  appears  to  span  a  small 
stream.  It  unites  banks  lined  with  a  growth  of  trees 
and  briers  nodding  their  heads  above  the  neighboring 


62  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

levels,  and  suggesting  a  quiet  water-course ;  though 
in  fact  it  is  the  Fitchburg  Railroad  that  purls  be- 
tween them,  with  rippling  freight  and  passenger 
trains  and  ever-gurgling  locomotives.  The  banks 
take  the  earliest  green  of  spring  upon  their  south- 
ward slope,  and  on  a  Sunday  morning  of  May,  when 
the  bells  are  lamenting  the  Sabbaths  of  the  past,  I 
find  their  sunny  tranquillity  sufficient  to  give  me  a 
slight  heart-ache  for  I  know  not  what.  If  I  descend 
them  and  follow  the  railroad  westward  half  a  mile,  I 
come  to  vast  brick-yards,  which  are  not  in  them- 
selves exciting  to  the  imagination,  and  which  yet, 
from  an  irresistible  association  of  ideas,  remind  me 
of  Egypt,  and  are  forever  newly  forsaken  of  those 
who  made  bricks  without  straw ;  so  that  I  have  no 
trouble  in  erecting  temples  and  dynastic  tombs  out 
of  the  kilns ;  while  the  mills  for  grinding  the  clay 
serve  me  very  well  for  those  sad-voiced  sakias  or 
wheel-pumps  which  the  Howadji  Curtis  heard  wail- 
ing at  their  work  of  drawing  water  from  the  Nile. 
A  little  farther  on  I  come  to  the  boarding-house 
built  at  the  railroad  side  for  the  French  Canadians 
who  have  by  this  time  succeeded  the  Hebrews  in 
the  toil  of  the  brick-yards,  and  who,  as  they  loiter  in 
windy- voiced,  good-humored  groups  about  the  doors 
of  their  lodgings,  insist  upon  bringing  before  me  the 
town  of  St.  Michel  at  the  mouth  of  the  great  Mont 
Cenis  tunnel,  where  so  many  peasant  folk  like  them 
are  always  amiably  quarreling  before  the  cabarets 
when  the  diligence  comes  and  goes.  Somewhere, 
there  must  be  a  gendarme  with  a  cocked  hat  and  a 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  63 

sword  on,  standing  with  folded  arms  to  represent  the 
Empire  and  Peace  among  that  rural  population ;  if  I 
looked  in-doors,  I  am  sure  I  should  see  the  neatest 
of  landladies  and  landladies'  daughters  and  nieces  in 
high  black  silk  caps,  bearing  hither  and  thither 
smoking  bowls  of  bouillon  and  cafS-au-lait.  Well,  it 
takes  as  little  to  make  one  happy  as  miserable,  thank 
Heaven  !  and  I  derive  a  cheerfulness  from  this  scene 
which  quite  atones  to  me  for  the  fleeting  desolation 
suffered  from  the  sunny  verdure  on  the  railroad 
bank.  With  repaired  spirits  I  take  my  way  up 
through  the  brick-yards  towards  the  Irish  settlement 
on  the  north,  passing  under  the  long  sheds  that  shel- 
ter the  kilns.  The  ashes  lie  cold  about  the  mouths 
of  most,  and  the  bricks  are  burnt  to  the  proper  com- 
plexion ;  in  others  these  are  freshly  arranged  over 
flues  in  which  the  fire  has  not  been  kindled ;  but  in 
whatever  state  I  see  them,  I  am  reminded  of  brick- 
kilns of  boyhood.  They  were  then  such  palaces  of 
enchantment  as  any  architect  should  now  vainly  at- 
tempt to  rival  with  bricks  upon  the  most  desirable 
corner  lot  of  the  Back  Bay,  and  were  the  homes  of 
men  truly  to  be  envied :  men  privileged  to  stay  up  all 
night ;  to  sleep,  as  it  were,  out  of  doors  ;  to  hear  the 
wild  geese  as  they  flew  over  in  the  darkness  ;  to  be 
waking  in  time  to  shoot  the  early  ducks  that  visited 
the  neighboring  ponds  ;  to  roast  corn  upon  the  ends 
of  sticks  ;  to  tell  and  to  listen  to  stories  that  never 
ended,  save  in  some  sudden  impulse  to  rise  and  dance 
a  happy  hoe-down  in  the  ruddy  light  of  the  kiln-fires. 
If  by  day  they  were  seen  to  have  the  redness  of 


64  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

eyes  of  men  that  looked  upon  the  whiskey  when  it 
was  yellow  and  gave  its  color  in  the  flask ;  if  now 
and  then  the  fragments  of  a  broken  bottle  strewed 
the  scene  of  their  vigils,  and  a  head  broken  to  match 
appeared  among  those  good  comrades,  the  boyish 
imagination  was  not  shocked  by  these  things,  but 
accepted  them  merely  as  the  symbols  of  a  free  virile 
life.  Some  such  life  no  doubt  is  still  to  be  found  in 
the  Dublin  to  which  I  am  come  by  the  time  my  re- 
pertory of  associations  with  brick-kilns  is  exhausted ; 
but,  oddly  enough,  I  no  longer  care  to  encounter  it. 

It  is  perhaps  in  a  pious  recognition  of  our  mortality 
that  Dublin  is  built  around  the  Irish  grave-yard. 
Most  of  its  windows  look  out  upon  the  sepulchral 
monuments  and  the  pretty  constant  arrival  of  the 
funeral  trains  with  their  long  lines  of  carriages 
bringing  to  the  celebration  of  the  sad  ultimate  rites 
those  gay  companies  of  Irish  mourners.  I  suppose 
that  the  spectacle  of  such  obsequies  is  not  at  all  de- 
pressing to  the  inhabitants  of  Dublin ;  but  that,  on 
the  contrary,  it  must  beget  in  them  a  feeling  which, 
if  not  resignation  to  death,  is,  at  least,  a  sort  of  sub- 
acute  cheerfulness  in  his  presence.  None  but  a 
Dubliner,  however,  would  have  been  greatly  ani- 
mated by  a  scene  which  I  witnessed  during  a  stroll 
through  this  cemetery  one  afternoon  of  early  spring. 
The  fact  that  a  marble  slab  or  shaft  more  or  less 
sculptured,  and  inscribed  with  words  more  or  less 
helpless,  is  the  utmost  that  we  can  give  to  one  whom 
once  we  could  caress  with  every  tenderness  of  speech 
and  touch  ;  and  that,  after  all,  the  memorial  we  raise 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  65 

is  rather  to  our  own  grief,  and  is  a  decency,  a  mere 
conventionality,  —  this  is  a  dreadful  fact  on  which 
the  heart  breaks  itself  with  such  a  pang,  that  it  al- 
ways seems  a  desolation  never  recognized,  an  anguish 
never  felt  before.  Whilst  I  stood  revolving  this 
thought  in  my  mind,  and  reading  the  Irish  names 
upon  the  stones  and  the  black  head-boards,  —  the 
latter  adorned  with  pictures  of  angels,  once  gilt,  but 
now  weather-worn  down  to  the  yellow  paint,  —  a 
wail  of  intolerable  pathos  filled  the  air :  "  O  my 
darling,  O  my  darling !  O  —  O  —  O  !  "  with  sobs 
and  groans  and  sighs ;  and,  looking  about,  I  saw  two 
women,  one  standing  upright  beside  another  that  had 
cast  herself  upon  a  grave,  and  lay  clasping  it  with 
her  comfortless  arms,  uttering  these  cries.  The 
grave  was  a  year  old  at  least,  but  the  grief  seemed 
of  yesterday  or  of  that  morning.  At  times  the 
friend  that  stood  beside  the  prostrate  woman  stooped 
and  spoke  a  soothing  word  to  her,  while  she  wailed 
out  her  woe  ;  and  in  the  midst  some  little  ribald 
Irish  boys  came  scuffling  and  quarreling  up  the 
pathway,  singing  snatches  of  an  obscene  song ;  and 
when  both  the  wailing  and  the  singing  had  died 
away,  an  old  woman,  decently  clad,  and  with  her 
many- wrinkled  face  softened  by  the  old-fashioned  frill 
running  round  the  inside  of  her  cap,  dropped  down 
upon  her  knees  beside  a  very  old  grave,  and  clasped 
her  hands  in  a  silent  prayer  above  it. 

If  I  had  beheld  all  this  in  some  village  campo  santo 
in  Italy,  I  should  have  been  much  more  vividly  im- 
pressed by  it,  as  an  sesthetical  observer ;  whereas  I 

5 


66  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

was  now  merely  touched  as  a  human  being,  and  had 
little  desire  to  turn  the  scene  to  literary  account.  I 
could  not  help  feeling  that  it  wanted  the  atmosphere 
of  sentimental  association ;  the  whole  background 
was  a  blank  or  worse  than  a  blank.  Yet  I  have  not 
been  able  to  hide  from  myself  so  much  as  I  would 
like  certain  points  of  resemblance  between  our  Irish 
and  the  poorer  classes  of  Italians.  The  likeness  is 
one  of  the  first  things  that  strikes  an  American  in 
Italy,  and  I  am  always  reminded  of  it  in  Dublin. 
So  much  of  the  local  life  appears  upon  the  street ; 
there  is  so  much  gossip  from  house  to  house,  and  the 
talk  is  always  such  a  resonant  clamoring ;  the  women, 
bareheaded,  or  with  a  shawl  folded  over  the  head 
and  caught  beneath  the  chin  with  the  hand,  have 
such  a  contented  down-at-heel  aspect,  shuffling  from 
door  to  door,  or  lounging,  arms  akimbo,  among  the 
cats  and  poultry  at  their  own  thresholds,  that  one 
beholding  it  all  might  well  fancy  himself  upon  some 
Italian  calle  or  vicolo.  Of  course  the  illusion  does 
not  hold  good  on  a  Sunday,  when  the  Dubliners  are 
coming  home  from  church  in  their  best,  —  their  ex- 
traordinary best  bonnets  and  their  prodigious  silk 
hats.  It  does  not  hold  good  in  any  way  or  at  any 
time,  except  upon  the  surface,  for  there  is  beneath 
all  this  resemblance  the  difference  that  must  exist 
between  a  race  immemorially  civilized  and  one  which 
has  lately  emerged  from  barbarism  "after  six  cen- 
turies of  oppression."  You  are  likely  to  find  a 
polite  pagan  under  the  mask  of  the  modern  Italian  ; 
you  feel  pretty  sure  that  any  of  his  race  would, 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUB.  67 

with  a  little  washing  and  skillful  manipulation,  restore, 
like  a  neglected  painting,  into  something  genuinely 
graceful  and  pleasing ;  but  if  one  of  these  Yankee- 
fied Celts  were  scraped,  it  is  but  too  possible  that 
you  might  find  a  kern,  a  Whiteboy,  or  a  Pikeman. 
The  chance  of  discovering  a  scholar  or  a  saint  of  the 
period  when  Ireland  was  the  centre  of  learning,  and 
the  favorite  seat  of  tlie  Church,  is  scarcely  one  in 
three. 

Among  the  houses  fronting  on  the  main  street  of 
Dublin,  every  other  one  —  I  speak  in  all  moderation 
—  is  a  grocery,  if  I  may  judge  by  a  tin  case  of  corn- 
balls,  a  jar  of  candy,  and  a  card  of  shirt-buttons, 
with  an  under  layer  of  primers  and  ballads,  in  the 
windows.  You  descend  from  the  street  by  several 
steps  into  these  haunts,  which  are  contrived  to  secure 
the  greatest  possible  dampness  and  darkness ;  and  if 
you  have  made  an  errand  inside,  you  doubtless  find 
a  lady  before  the  counter  in  the  act  of  putting  down 
a  guilty-looking  tumbler  with  one  hand,  while  she 
neatly  wipes  her  mouth  on  the  back  of  the  other. 
She  has  that  effect,  observable  in  all  tippling  women 
of  low  degree,  of  having  no  upper  garment  on  but 
a  shawl,  which  hangs  about  her  in  statuesque  folds 
and  lines.  She  slinks  out  directly,  but  the  lady  be- 
hind the  counter  gives  you  good  evening  with 

"  The  affectation  of  a  bright-eyed  ease," 

intended  to  deceive  if  you  chance  to  be  a  State  con- 
stable in  disguise,  and  to  propitiate  if  you  are  a  veri- 
table customer:  "Who  was  that  woman,  lamenting 


68  SUBUKBAN  SKETCHES. 

so,  over  in  the  grave-yard?  "  "  O,  I  don't  know,  sir," 
answered  the  lady,  making  change  for  the  price  of  a 
ballad.  "  Some  Irish  folks.  They  ginerally  cries 
that  way." 

In  yet  earlier  spring  walks  through  Dublin,  I 
found  a  depth  of  mud  appalling  even  to  one  who 
had  lived  three  years  in  Charlesbridge.  The 
streets  were  passable  only  to  pedestrians  skilled  in 
shifting  themselves  along  the  sides  of  fences  and 
alert  to  take  advantage  of  every  projecting  doorstep. 
There  were  no  dry  places,  except  in  front  of  the 
groceries,  where  the  ground  was  beaten  hard  by  the 
broad  feet  of  loafing  geese  and  the  coming  and  go- 
ing of  admirably  small  children  making  purchases 
there.  The  number  of  the  little  ones  was  quite  as 
remarkable  as  their  size,  and  ought  to  have  been 
even  more  interesting,  if,  as  sometimes  appears  prob- 
able, such  increase  shall  —  together  with  the  well- 
known  ambition  of  Dubliners  to  rule  the  land  —  one 
day  make  an  end  of  us  poor  Yankees  as  a  dominant 
plurality. 

The  town  was  somewhat  tainted  with  our  archi- 
tectural respectability,  unless  the  newness  of  some 
of  the  buildings  gave  illusion  of  this ;  and,  though 
the  streets  of  Dublin  were  not  at  all  cared  for,  and 
though  every  house  on  the  main  thoroughfare  stood 
upon  the  brink  of  a  slough,  without  yard,  or  any 
attempt  at  garden  or  shrubbery,  there  were  many 
cottages  in  the  less  aristocratic  quarters  inclosed  in 
palings,  and  embowered  in  the  usual  suburban  pear- 
trees  and  currant-bushes.  These,  indeed,  were 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  89 

dwellings  of  an  elder  sort,  and  had  clearly  been 
inherited  from  a  population  now  as  extinct  in  that 
region  as  the  Pequots,  and  they  were  not  always 
carefully  cherished.  On  the  border  of  the  hamlet  is 
to  be  seen  an  old  farm-house  of  the  poorer  sort,  built 
about  the  beginning  of  this  century,  and  now  thickly 
peopled  by  Dubliners.  Its  gate  is  thrown  down,  and 
the  great  wild-grown  lilac  hedge,  no  longer  protected 
by  a  fence,  shows  skirts  bedabbled  by  the  familiarity 
of  lawless  poultry,  as  little  like  the  steady-habited 
poultry  of  other  times,  as  the  people  of  the  house 
are  like  the  former  inmates,  long  since  dead  or  gone 
West.  I  offer  the  poor  place  a  sentiment  of  regret 
as  I  pass,  thinking  of  its  better  days.  I  think  of  its 
decorous,  hard-working,  cleanly,  school-going,  church- 
attending  life,  which  was  full  of  the  pleasure  of  duty 
done,  and  was  not  without  its  own  quaint  beauty 
and  grace.  What  long  Sabbaths  were  kept  in  that 
old  house,  what  scanty  holidays  !  Yet  from  this  and 
such  as  this  came  the  dominion  of  the  whole  wild 
continent,  the  freedom  of  a  race,  the  greatness  of 
the  greatest  people.  It  may  be  that  I  regretted  a 
little  too  exultantly,  and  that  out  of  this  particular 
house  came  only  peddling  of  innumerable  clocks 
and  multitudinous  tin-ware.  But  as  yet,  it  is  pretty 
certain  that  the  general  character  of  the  population 
has  not  gained  by  the  change.  What  is  in  the 
future,  let  the  prophets  say ;  any  one  can  see  that 
something  not  quite  agreeable  is  in  the  present; 
something  that  takes  the  wrong  side,  as  by  instinct, 
in  politics ;  something  that  mainly  helps  to  prop  up 


70  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

tottering  priestcraft  among  us ;  something  that  one 
thinks  of  with  dismay  as  destined  to  control  so 
largely  the  civil  and  religious  interests  of  the  coun- 
try. This,  however,  is  only  the  aggregate  aspect. 
Mrs.  Clannahan's  kitchen,  as  it  may  be  seen  by  the 
desperate  philosopher  when  he  goes  to  engage  her 
for  the  spring  house-cleaning,  is  a  strong  argument 
against  his  fears.  If  Mrs.  Clannahan,  lately  of  an 
Irish  cabin,  can  show  a  kitchen  so  capably  appointed 
and  so  neatly  kept  as  that,  the  country  may  yet 
be  an  inch  or  two  from  the  brink  of  ruin,  and  the 
race  which  we  trust  as  little  as  we  love  may  turn  out 
no  more  spendthrift  than  most  heirs.  It  is  encour- 
aging, moreover,  when  any  people  can  flatter  them- 
selves upon  a  superior  prosperity  and  virtue,  and  we 
may  take  heart  from  the  fact  that  the  French  Cana- 
dians, many  of  whom  have  lodgings  in  Dublin,  are 
not  well  seen  by  the  higher  classes  of  the  citizens 
there.  Mrs.  Clannahan,  whose  house  stands  over 
against  the  main  gate  of  the  grave-yard,  and  who 
may,  therefore,  be  considered  as  moving  in  the  best 
Dublin  society,  hints,  that  though  good  Catholics,  the 
French  are  not  thought  perfectly  honest,  —  "  things 
have  been  missed "  since  they  came  to  blight  with 
their  crimes  and  vices  the  once  happy  seat  of  integ- 
rity. It  is  amusing  to  find  Dublin  fearful  of  the  en- 
croachment of  the  French,  as  we,  in  our  turn,  dread 
the  advance  of  the  Irish.  We  must  make  a  jest  of 
our  own  alarms,  and  even  smile  —  since  we  cannot 
help  ourselves — at  the  spiritual  desolation  occasioned 
by  the  settlement  of  an  Irish  family  in  one  of  our 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUB.  71 

suburban  neighborhoods.  The  householders  view 
with  fear  and  jealousy  the  erection  of  any  dwelling 
of  less  than  a  stated  cost,  as  portending  a  possible 
advent  of  Irish ;  and  when  the  calamitous  race 
actually  appears,  a  mortal  pang  strikes  to  the  bottom 
of  every  pocket.  Values  tremble  throughout  that 
neighborhood,  to  which  the  new-comers  communicate 
a  species  of  moral  dry-rot.  None  but  the  Irish  will 
build  near  the  Irish ;  and  the  infection  of  fear  spreads 
to  the  elder  Yankee  homes  about,  and  the  owners 
prepare  to  abandon  them,  —  not  always,  however, 
let  us  hope,  without  turning,  at  the  expense  of  the 
invaders,  a  Parthian  penny  in  their  flight.  In  my 
walk  from  Dublin  to  North  Charlesbridge,  I  saw 
more  than  one  token  of  the  encroachment  of  the 
Celtic  army,  which  had  here  and  there  invested  a 
Yankee  house  with  besieging  shanties  on  every  side, 
and  thus  given  to  its  essential  and  otherwise  quite 
hopeless  ugliness  a  touch  of  the  poetry  that  attends 
failing  fortunes,  and  hallows  decayed  gentility  of 
however  poor  a  sort  originally.  The  fortunes  of 
such  a  house  are,  of  course,  not  to  be  retrieved. 
Where  the  Celt  sets  his  foot,  there  the  Yankee  (and 
it  is  perhaps  wholesome  if  not  agreeable  to  know 
that  the  Irish  citizen  whom  we  do  not  always  honor 
as  our  equal  in  civilization  loves  to  speak  of  us  scorn- 
fully as  Yankees)  rarely,  if  ever,  returns.  The 
place  remains  to  the  intruder  and  his  heirs  forever. 
We  gracefully  retire  before  him  even  in  politics,  as 
the  metropolis  —  if  it  is  the  metropolis  —  can  wit- 
ness ;  and  we  wait  with  an  anxious  curiosity  the 


72  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

encounter  of  the  Irish  and  the  Chinese,  now  rapidly 
approaching  each  other  from  opposite  shores  of  the 
continent.  Shall  we  be  crushed  in  the  collision  of 
these  superior  races  ?  Every  intelligence-office  will 
soon  be  ringing  with  the  cries  of  combat,  and  all  our 
kitchens  strewn  with  pig-tails  and  bark  chignons. 
As  yet  we  have  gay  hopes  of  our  Buddhistic  breth- 
ren ;  but  how  will  it  be  when  they  begin  to  quarter 
the  Dragon  upon  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and  buy  up 
all  the  best  sites  for  temples,  and  burn  their  joss- 
sticks,  as  it  were,  under  our  very  noses  ?  Our  grasp 
upon  the  great  problem  grows  a  little  lax,  perhaps  ? 
Is  it  true  that,  when  we  look  so  anxiously  for  help 
from  others,  the  virtue  has  gone  out  of  ourselves  ? 
I  should  hope  not. 

As  I  leave  Dublin,  the  houses  grow  larger  and 
handsomer;  and  as  I  draw  near  the  Avenue,  the 
Mansard-roofs  look  down  upon  me  with  their  dor- 
mer-windows, and  welcome  me  back  to  the  Ameri- 
can community.  There  are  fences  about  all  the 
houses,  inclosing  ampler  and  ampler  dooryards  ;  the 
children,  which  had  swarmed  in  the  thriftless  and 
unenlightened  purlieus  of  Dublin,  diminish  in  number 
and  finally  disappear ;  the  chickens  have  vanished ; 
and  I  hear  —  I  hear  the  pensive  music  of  the  horse- 
car  bells,  which  in  some  alien  land,  I  am  sure,  would 
be  as  pathetic  to  me  as  the  Ranz  des  Vaches  to  the 
Swiss  or  the  bagpipes  to  the  Highlander:  in  the 
desert,  where  the  traveller  seems  to  hear  the  famil- 
iar bells  of  his  far-off  church,  this  tinkle  would  haunt 
the  absolute  silence,  and  recall  the  exile's  fancy  to 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  73 

Charlesbridge ;  and  perhaps  in  the  mocking  mirage 
he  would  behold  an  airy  horse-car  track,  and  a 
phantasmagoric  horse-car  moving  slowly  along  the 
edge  of  the  horizon,  with  spectral  passengers  closely 
packed  inside  and  overflowing  either  platform. 

But  before  I  reach  the  Avenue,  Dublin  calls  to 
me  yet  again,  in  the  figure  of  an  old,  old  man,  wear- 
ing the  clothes  of  other  times,  and  a  sort  of  ancestral 
round  hat.  In  the  act  of  striking  a  match  he  asks 
me  the  time  of  day,  and,  applying  the  fire  to  his 
pipe,  he  returns  me  his  thanks  in  a  volume  of  words 
and  smoke.  What  a  wrinkled  and  unshorn  old  man ! 
Can  age  and  neglect  do  so  much  for  any  of  us?  This 
ruinous  person  was  associated  with  a  hand-cart  as 
decrepit  as  himself,  but  not  nearly  so  cheerful ;  for 
though  he  spoke  up  briskly  with  a  spirit  uttered  from 
far  within  the  wrinkles  and  the  stubble,  the  cart  had 
preceded  him  with  a  very  lugubrious  creak.  It 
groaned,  in  fact,  under  a  load  of  tin  cans,  and  I  was 
to  learn  from  the  old  man  that  there  was,  and  had 
been,  in  his  person,  for  thirteen  years,  such  a  thing 
in  the  world  as  a  peddler  of  buttermilk,  and  that 
these  cans  were  now  filled  with  that  pleasant  drink. 
They  did  not  invite  me  to  prove  their  contents,  being 
cans  that  apparently  passed  their  vacant  moments  in 
stables  and  even  manure-heaps,  and  that  looked 
somehow  emulous  of  that  old  man's  stubble  and 
wrinkles.  I  bought  nothing,  but  I  left  the  old  ped- 
dler well  content,  seated  upon  a  thill  of  his  cart, 
smoking  tranquilly,  and  filling  the  keen  spring  even- 
ing air  with  fumes  which  it  dispersed  abroad,  and 
made  to  itself  a  pleasant  incense  of. 


74  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

I  left  him  a  whole  epoch  behind,  as  I  entered  the 
Avenue  and  lounged  homeward  along  the  stately- 
street.  Above  the  station  it  is  far  more  picturesque 
than  it  is  below,  and  the  magnificent  elms  that 
shadow  it  might  well  have  looked,  in  their  sapling- 
hood,  upon  the  British  straggling  down  the  country 
road  from  the  Concord  fight;  and  there  are  some 
ancient  houses  yet  standing  that  must  have  been 
filled  with  exultation  at  the  same  spectacle.  Poor 
old  revolutionaries  1  they  would  never  have  believed 
that  their  descendants  would  come  to  love  the  Eng- 
lish as  we  do. 

The  season  has  advanced  rapidly  during  my  prog- 
ress from  Dublin  to  the  Avenue  ;  and  by  the  time  I 
reach  the  famous  old  tavern,  not  far  from  the  station, 
it  is  a  Sunday  morning  of  early  summer,  and  the 
yellow  sunlight  falls  upon  a  body  of  good  comrades 
who  are  grooming  a  marvelous  number  of  piebald 
steeds  about  the  stable-doors.  By  token  of  these 
beasts — which  always  look  so  much  more  like  works 
of  art  than  of  nature  —  I  know  that  there  is  to  be  a 
circus  somewhere  very  soon ;  and  the  gay  bills  pasted 
all  over  the  stable-front  tell  me  that  there  are  to  be 
two  performances  at  the  Port  on  the  morrow.  The 
grooms  talk  nothing  and  joke  nothing  but  horse  at 
their  labor ;  and  their  life  seems  such  a  low,  igno- 
rant, happy  life,  that  the  secret  nomad  lurking  in 
every  respectable  and  stationary  personality  stirs 
within  me  and  struggles  to  strike  hands  of  fellowship 
with  them.  They  lead  a  sort  of  pastoral  existence 
in  our  age  of  railroads ;  they  wander  over  the  con- 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUB.  75 

tinent  with  their  great  caravan,  and  everywhere 
pursue  the  summer  from  South  to  North  and  from 
North  to  South  again ;  in  the  mild  forenoons  they 
groom  their  herds,  and  in  the  afternoons  they  doze 
under  their  wagons,  indifferent  to  the  tumult  of  the 
crowd  within  and  without  the  mighty  canvas  near 
them,  —  doze  face  downwards  on  the  bruised,  sweet- 
smelling  grass ;  and  in  the  starry  midnight  rise  and 
strike  their  tents,  and  set  forth  again  over  the  still 
country  roads,  to  take  the  next  village  on  the  mor- 
row with  the  blaze  and  splendor  of  their  "  Grand 
Entree."  The  triumphal  chariot  in  which  the  musi- 
cians are  borne  at  the  head  of  the  procession  is  com- 
posed, as  I  perceive  by  the  bills,  of  four  colossal  gilt 
swans,  set  tail  to  tail,  with  lifted  wings  and  curving 
necks  ;  but  the  chariot,  as  I  behold  it  beside  the  sta- 
ble, is  mysteriously  draped  in  white  canvas,  through 
which  its  gilding  glitters  only  here  and  there.  And 
does  it  move  thus  shrouded  in  the  company's  wander- 
ings from  place  to  place,  and  is  the  precious  spottiness 
of  the  piebalds  then  hidden  under  envious  drapery  ? 
O  happy  grooms,  —  not  clean  as  to  shirts,  nor  espe- 
cially neat  in  your  conversation,  but  displaying  a 
Wealth  of  art  in  India-ink  upon  your  manly  chests 
and  the  swelling  muscles  of  your  arms,  and  speaking 
in  every  movement  your  freedom  from  all  conven- 
tional gyves  and  shackles,  "  seid  um&chlungen  !  " — 
in  spirit ;  for  the  rest,  you  are  rather  too  damp,  and 
seem  to  have  applied  your  sudsy  sponges  too  impar- 
tially to  your  own  trousers  and  the  horses'  legs  to 
receive  an  actual  embrace  from  a  dilettante  vaga- 
bond. 


76  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

The  old  tavern  is  old  only  comparatively ;  but  in 
our  new  and  changeful  life  it  is  already  quaint.  It 
is  very  long,  and  low-studded  in  either  story,  with  a 
row  of  windows  in  the  roof,  and  a  great  porch,  fur- 
nished with  benches,  running  the  whole  length  of 
the  ground-floor.  Perhaps  because  they  take  the 
dust  of  the  street  too  freely,  or  because  the  guests 
find  it  more  social  and  comfortable  to  gather  in-doors 
in  the  wide,  low-ceiled  office,  the  benches  are  not 
worn,  nor  particularly  whittled.  The  room  has  the 
desolate  air  characteristic  of  offices  which  have  once 
been  bar-rooms  ;  but  no  doubt,  on  a  winter's  night, 
there  is  talk  worth  listening  to  there,  of  flocks  and 
herds  and  horse-trades,  from  the  drovers  and  cattle- 
market  men  who  patronize  the  tavern;  and  the 
artistic  temperament,  at  least,  could  feel  no  regret  if 
that  sepulchrally  penitent  bar-room  then  .developed 
a  secret  capacity  for  the  wickedness  that  once  boldly 
glittered  behind  the  counter  in  rows  of  decanters. 

The  house  was  formerly  renowned  for  its  suppers, 
of  which  all  that  was  learned  or  gifted  in  the  old 
college  town  of  Charlesbridge  used  to  partake ;  and 
I  have  heard  lips  which  breathe  the  loftiest  song  and 
the  sweetest  humor  —  let  alone  being  "  dewy  with 
the  Greek  of  Plato  "  —  smacked  regretfully  over 
the  memory  of  those  suppers'  roast  and  broiled.  No 
such  suppers,  they  say,  are  cooked  in  the  world  any 
more ;  and  I  am  somehow  made  to  feel  that  their 
passing  away  is  connected  with  the  decay  of  good 
literature. 

I  hope  it  may  be  very  long  before  the  predestined 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  77 

French-roof  villa  occupies  the  tavern's  site,  and  turns 
into  lawns  and  gardens  its  wide-spreading  cattle-pens, 
and  removes  the  great  barn  that  now  shows  its  broad, 
low  gable  to  the  street.  This  is  yet  older  and 
quainter-looking  than  the  tavern  itself ;  it  is  mighty 
capacious,  and  gives  a  still  profounder  impression  of 
vastness  with  its  shed,  of  which  the  roof  slopes 
southward  down  almost  to  a  man's  height  from  the 
ground,  and  shelters  a  row  of  mangers,  running 
back  half  the  length  of  the  stable,  and  serving  in 
former  times  for  the  baiting  of  such  beasts  as  could 
not  be  provided  for  within.  But  the  halcyon  days 
of  the  cattle-market  are  past  (though  you  may  still 
see  the  white  horns  tossing  above  the  fences  of  the 
pens,  when  a  newly  arrived  herd  lands  from  the  train 
to  be  driven  afoot  to  Brighton),  and  the  place  looks 
now  so  empty  and  forsaken,  spite  of  the  circus  bag- 
gage-wagons, that  it  were  hard  to  believe  these 
mangers  could  ever  have  been  in  request,  but  for 
the  fact  that  they  are  all  gnawed,  down  to  the  quick 
as  it  were,  by  generations  of  horses  —  vanished  for- 
ever on  the  deserted  highways  of  the  past — impa- 
tient for  their  oats  or  hungering  for  more. 

The  day  must  come,  of  course,  when  the  mangers 
will  all  be  taken  from  the  .stable-shed,  and  exposed 
for  sale  at  that  wonderful  second-hand  shop  which 
stands  over  against  the  tavern.  I  am  no  more  sur- 
prised than  one  in  a  dream,  to  find  it  a  week-day 
afternoon  by  the  time  I  have  crossed  thither  from 
the  circus-men  grooming  their  piebalds.  It  is  an 
enchanted  place  to  me,  and  I  am  a  frequent  and 


78  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

unprofitable  customer  there,  buying  only  just  enough 
to  make  good  my  footing  with  the  custodian  of  its 
marvels,  who  is,  of  course,  too  true  an  American  to 
show  any  desire  to  sell.  Without,  on  either  side  of 
the  doorway,  I  am  pretty  sure  to  find,  among  other 
articles  of  furniture,  a  mahogany  and  hair-cloth  sofa, 
a  family  portrait,  a  landscape  painting,  a  bath-tub, 
and  a  flower-stand,  with  now  and  then  the  variety 
of  a  boat  and  a  dog-house ;  while  under  an  adjoin- 
ing shed  is  heaped  a  mass  of  miscellaneous  mov- 
ables, of  a  heavier  sort,  and  fearlessly  left  there  night 
and  day,  being  on  all  accounts  undesirable  to  steal. 
The  door  of  the  shop  rings  a  bell  in  opening,  and 
ushers  the  customer  into  a  room  which  Chaos  her- 
self might  have  planned  in  one  of  her  happier  mo- 
ments. Carpets,  blankets,  shawls,  pictures,  mirrors, 
rocking-chairs,  and  blue  overalls  hang  from  the  ceil- 
ing, and  devious  pathways  wind  amidst  piles  of  ready- 
made  clothing,  show-cases  filled  with  every  sort  of 
knick-knack  and  half  hidden  under  heaps  of  hats 
and  boots  and  shoes,  bookcases,  secretaries,  chests  of 
drawers,  mattresses,  lounges,  and  bedsteads,  to  the 
stairway  of  a  loft  similarly  appointed,  and  to  a  back 
room  overflowing  with  glassware  and  crockery. 
These  things  are  not  all  second-hand,  but  they  are 
all  old  and  equally  pathetic.  The  melancholy  of 
ruinous  auction  sales,  of  changing  tastes  or  changing 
fashions,  clings  to  them,  whether  they  are  things  that 
have  never  had  a  home  and  have  been  on  sale  ever 
since  they  were  made,  or  things  that  have  been  asso- 
ciated with  every  phase  of  human  life. 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  79 

Among  other  objects,  certain  large  glass  vases, 
ornamented  by  the  polite  art  of  potichomanie,  have 
long  appealed  to  my  fancy,  wherein  they  capriciously 
allied  themselves  to  the  history  of  aging  single 
women  in  lonely  New  England  village  houses,  — 
pathetic  sisters  lingering  upon  the  neutral  ground 
between  the  faded  hopes  of  marriage  and  the  yet 
unrisen  prospects  of  consumption.  The  work  implies 
an  imperfect  yet  real  love  of  beauty,  the  leisure  for 
it  a  degree  of  pecuniary  ease  :  the  thoughts  of  the 
sisters  rise  above  the  pickling  and  preserving  that 
occupied  their  heartier  and  happier  mother;  they  are 
in  fact  in  that  aesthetic,  social,  and  intellectual  mean, 
in  which  single  women  are  thought  soonest  to  wither 
and  decline.  With  a  little  more  power,  and  in  our 
later  era,  they  would  be  writing  stories  full  of  ambi- 
tious, unintelligible,  self-devoted  and  sudden  collaps- 
ing young  girls  and  amazing  doctors ;  but  as  they 
are,  and  in  their  time,  they  must  do  what  they  can. 
A  sentimentalist  may  discern  on  these  vases  not  only 
the  gay  designs  with  which  they  ornamented  them, 
but  their  own  dim  faces  looking  wan  from  the  win- 
dows of  some  huge  old  homestead,  a  world  too  wide 
for  the  shrunken  family.  All  April  long  the  door- 
yard  trees  crouch  and  shudder  in  the  sour  east,  all 
June  they  rain  canker-worms  upon  the  roof,  and 
then  in  autumn  choke  the  eaves  with  a  fall  of  tat- 
tered and  hectic  foliage.  From  the  window  the 
fading  sisters  gaze  upon  the  unnatural  liveliness  of 
the  summer  streets  through  which  the  summer 
boarders  are  driving,  or  upon  the  death-white  drifts 


80  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

of  the  intolerable  winter.  Their  father,  the  captain, 
is  dead ;  he  died  with  the  Calcutta  trade,  having  sur- 
vived their  mother,  and  left  them  a  hopeless  compe- 
tency and  yonder  bamboo  chairs  ;  their  only  brother 
is  in  California ;  one,  though  she  loved,  had  never 
a  lover ;  her  sister's  betrothed  married  West,  whither 
he  went  to  make  a  home  for  her,  —  and  ah !  is  it 
vases  for  the  desolate  parlor  mantel  they  decorate,  or 
funeral  urns  ?  And  when  in  time,  they  being  gone, 
the  Californian  brother  sends  to  sell  out  at  auction 
the  old  place  with  the  household  and  kitchen  furni- 
ture, is  it  withered  rose-leaves  or  ashes  that  the  pur- 
chaser finds  in  these  jars  ? 

They  are  empty  now ;  and  I  wonder  how  came  they 
here  ?  How  came  the  show-case  of  Dr.  Merrifield, 
Surgeon-Chiropodist  here?  How  came  here  yon 
Italian  painting  ?  —  a  poor,  silly,  little  affected  Ma- 
donna, simpering  at  me  from  her  dingy  gilt  frame 
till  I  buy  her,  a  great  bargain,  at  a  dollar.  From 
what  country  church  or  family  oratory,  in  what  revo- 
lution, or  stress  of  private  fortunes,  —  then  from  what 
various  cabinets  of  antiquities,  in  what  dear  Vicenza, 
or  Ferrara,  or  Mantua,  earnest  thou,  O  Madonna? 
Whose  likeness  are  you,  poor  girl,  with  your  every- 
day prettiness  of  brows  and  chin,  and  your  Raphael- 
esque  crick  in  the  neck  ?  I  think  I  know  a  part  of 
your  story.  You  were  once  the  property  of  that 
ruined  advocate,  whose  sensibilities  would  sometimes 
consent  that  a  valet  de  place  of  uncommon  delicacy 
should  bring  to  his  ancestral  palace  some  singularly 
meritorious  foreigner  desirous  of  purchasing  from  his 


A   PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  81 

rare  collection,  —  a  collection  of  rubbish  scarcely  to  be 
equaled  elsewhere  in  Italy.  You  hung  in  that  fam- 
ily-room, reached  after  passage  through  stately  vesti- 
bules and  grand  stairways ;  and  O,  I  would  be 
cheated  to  the  bone,  if  only  I  might  look  out  again 
from  some  such  windows  as  were  there,  upon  some 
such  damp,  mouldy,  broken-statued,  ruinous,  en- 
chanted garden  as  lay  below  !  In  that  room  sat  the 
advocate's  mother  and  hunchback  sister,  with  their 
smoky  scaldini  and  their  snuffy  priest;  and  there 
the  wife  of  the  foreigner,  self-elected  the  taste  of  his 
party,  inflicted  the  pang  courted  by  the  advocate, 
and  asked  if  you  were  for  sale.  And  then  the  ruined 
advocate  clasped  his  hands,  rubbed  them,  set  his  head 
heart-brokenly  on  one  side,  took  you  down,  heaved 
a  sigh,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  sold  you  —  you ! 
a  family  heirloom  !  Well,  at  least  you  are  old,  and 
you  represent  to  me  acres  of  dim,  religious  canvas  in 
that  beloved  land  ;  and  here  is  the  dollar  now  asked 
for  you :  I  could  not  have  bought  you  for  so  little  at 
home. 

The  Madonna  is  neighbored  by  several  paintings, 
of  the  kind  called  Grecian  for  a  reason  never  re- 
vealed by  the  inventor  of  an  art  as  old  as  poticho- 
manie  itself.  It  was  an  art  by  which  ordinary  litho- 
graphs were  given  a  ghastly  transparency,  and  a  tone 
as  disagreeable  as  chromos ;  and  I  doubt  if  it  could 
have  been  known  to  the  Greeks  in  their  best  age. 

o 

But  I  remember  very  well  when  it  passed  over 
whole  neighborhoods  in  some  parts  of  this  country, 
wasting  the  time  of  many  young  women,  and  disfig- 


82  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

uring  parlor  walls  with  the  fruit  of  their  accomplish- 
ment. It  was  always  taught  by  Professors,  a  class 
of  learned  young  men  who  acquired  their  title  by 
abandoning  the  plough  and  anvil,  and,  in  a  suit  of 
ready-made  clothing,  travelling  about  the  country 
with  portfolios  under  their  arms.  It  was  an  experi- 
ence to  make  loafers  for  life  of  them ;  and  I  fancy 
the  girls  who  learnt  their  art  never  afterwards  made 
so  good  butter  and  cheese. 

"  Non  ragioniam  di  lor,  ma  guarda  e  passa." 

Besides  the  Grecian  paintings  there  are  some  mez- 
zotints ;  full  length  pictures  of  presidents  and  states- 
men, chiefly  General  Jackson,  Henry  Clay,  and 
Daniel  Webster,  which  have  hung  their  day  in  the 
offices  or  parlors  of  country  politicians.  They  are  all 
statesmanlike  and  presidential  in  attitude  ;  and  I 
know  that  if  the  mighty  Webster's  lips  had  language, 
he  would  take  his  hand  out  of  his  waistcoat  front, 
and  say  to  his  fellow  mezzotints  :  "  Venerable  men ! 
you  have  come  down  to  us  from  a  former  generation, 
bringing  your  household  furniture  and  miscellaneous 
trumpery  of  all  kinds  with  you." 

Some  old-fashioned  entry  lanterns  divide  my  inter- 
est with  certain  old  willow  chairs  of  an  hour-glass  pat- 
tern, which  never  stood  upright,  probably,  and  have 
now  all  a  confirmed  droop  to  one  side,  as  from  having 
been  fallen  heavily  asleep  in,  upon  breezy  porches,  of 
hot  summer  afternoons.  In  the  windows  are  small 
vases  of  alabaster,  fly-specked  Parian  and  plaster  fig- 
ures, and  dolls  with  stiff  wooden  limbs  and  papier- 
mache  heads,  a  sort  of  dolls  no  longer  to  be  bought 


A  PEDESTBIAN  TOUR.  83 

in  these  days  of  modish,  blue-eyed  blondes  of  biscuit 
and  sturdy  india-rubber  brunettes.  The  show-case 
is  full  of  an  incredible  variety,  as  photograph  albums, 
fishing-hooks,  socks,  suspenders,  steel  pens,  cutlery 
of  all  sorts,  and  curious  old  colored  prints  of  Ade- 
laide, and  Kate,  and  Ellen.  A  rocking-horse  is  sta- 
bled near  amid  pendent  lengths  of  second-hand  car- 
peting, hat-racks,  and  mirrors ;  and  standing  cheek- 
by-jowl  with  painted  washstands  and  bureaus  are 
some  plaster  statues,  aptly  colored  and  varnished  to 
represent  bronze. 

There  is  nothing  here  but  has  a  marked  character 
of  its  own,  some  distinct  yet  intangible  trait  ac- 
quired from  former  circumstances  ;  and  doubtless  all 
these  things  have  that  lurking  likeness  to  former 
owners  which  clothes  and  furniture  are  apt  to  take 
on  from  long  association,  and  which  we  should  in- 
stantly recognize  could  they  be  confronted  with 
their  late  proprietors.  It  seems,  in  very  imaginative 
moments,  as  if  the  strange  assemblage  of  incongrui- 
ties must  have  a  consciousness  of  these  latent  resem- 
blances, which  the  individual  pieces  betray  when 
their  present  keeper  turns  the  key  upon  them,  and 
abandons  them  to  themselves  at  night ;  and  I  have 
sometimes  fancied  such  an  effect  in  the  late  twilight, 
when  I  have  wandered  into  their  resting-place,  and 
have  beheld  them  in  the  unnatural  glare  of  a  kerosene 
lamp  burning  before  a  brightly  polished  reflector,  and 
casting  every  manner  of  grotesque  shadow  upon  the 
floor  and  walls.  But  this  may  have  been  an  illusion ; 
at  any  rate  I  am  satisfied  that  the  bargain-driving 


84  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

capacity  of  the  storekeeper  is  not  in  the  least  affected 
by  a  weird  quality  in  his  wares ;  though  they  have 
not  failed  to  impart  to  him  something  of  their  own 
desultory  character.  He  sometimes  leaves  a  neigh- 
bor in  charge  when  he  goes  to  meals,  and  then,  if  I 
enter,  I  am  watchfully  followed  about  from  corner  to 
corner,  and  from  room  to  room,  lest  I  pocket  a  mat- 
tress or  slip  a  book-case  under  my  coat.  The  store- 
keeper himself  never  watches  me  ;  perhaps  he  knows 
that  it  is  a  purely  professional  interest  I  take  in  the 
collection ;  that  I  am  in  the  trade  and  have  a  second- 
hand shop  of  my  own,  full  of  poetical  rubbish,  and 
every  sort  of  literary  odds  and  ends,  picked  up  at 
random,  and  all  cast  higgledy-piggledy  into  the  same 
chaotic  receptacle.  His  customers  are  as  little  like 
ordinary  shoppers  as  he  is  like  common  tradesmen. 
They  are  in  part  the  Canadians  who  work  in  the  brick- 
yards, and  it  is  surprising  to  find  how  much  business 
can  be  transacted,  and  how  many  sharp  bargains 
struck  without  the  help  of  a  common  language.  I 
am  in  the  belief,  which  may  be  erroneous,  that  no- 
body is  wronged  in  these  trades.  The  taciturn  store- 
keeper, who  regards  his  customers  with  a  stare  of 
solemn  amusement  as  Critturs  born  by  some  extraor- 
dinary vicissitude  of  nature  to  the  use  of  a  lan- 
guage that  practically  amounts  to  deafness  and  dumb- 
ness, never  suffers  his  philosophical  interest  in  them 
to  affect  his  commercial  efficiency ;  he  drops  them 
now  and  then  a  curt  English  phrase,  or  expressive 
Yankee  idiom ;  he  knows  very  well  when  they 
mean  to  buy  and  when  they  do  not ;  and  they, 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  85 

equally  wary  and  equally  silent,  unswayed  by  the 
glib  allurements  of  a  salesman,  judge  of  price  and 
quality  for  themselves,  make  their  solitary  offer,  and 
stand  or  fall  by  it. 

I  am  seldom  able  to  conclude  a  pedestrian  tour 
without  a  glance  at  the  wonderful  interior  of  this 
cheap  store,  and  I  know  all  its  contents  familiarly. 
I  recognize  wares  that  have  now  been  on  sale  there 
for  years;  I  miss  at  first  glance  such  accustomed 
objects  as  have  been  parted  with  between  my  fre- 
quent visits,  and  hail  with  pleasure  the  additions  to 
that  extraordinary  variety.  I  can  hardly,  I  suppose, 
expect  the  reader  to  sympathize  with  the  joy  I  felt 
the  other  night,  in  discovering  among  the  latter  an 
adventurous  and  universally  applicable  sign-board 
advertising  This  House  and  Lot  for  Sale,  and,  inter- 
twined with  the  cast-off  suspenders  which  long  gar- 
landed a  coffee-mill  pendent  from  the  roof,  a  newly 
added  second-hand  india-rubber  ear-trumpet.  Here 
and  there,  however,  I  hope  a  finer  soul  will  relish,  as 
I  do,  the  poetry  of  thus  buying  and  offering  for  sale 
the  very  most  recondite,  as  well  as  the  commonest 
articles  of  commerce,  in  the  faith  that  one  day  the 
predestined  purchaser  will  appear  and  carry  off  the 
article  appointed  him  from  the  beginning  of  time. 
This  faith  is  all  the  more  touching,  because  the  col- 
lector cannot  expect  to  live  until  the  whole  stock  is 
disposed  of,  and  because,  in  the  order  of  nature, 
much  must  at  last  fall  to  ruin  unbought,  unless  the 
reporter's  Devouring  Element  appears  and  gives  a 
sudden  tragical  turn  to  the  poem. 


86  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

It  is  the  whistle  of  a  train  drawing  up  at  the 
neighboring  station  that  calls  me  away  from  the 
second-hand  store  ;  for  I  never  find  myself  able  to 
resist  the  hackneyed  prodigy  of  such  an  arrival.  It 
cannot  cease  to  be  impressive.  I  stand  beside  the 
track  while  the  familiar  monster  writhes  up  to  the 
station  and  disgorges  its  passengers,  —  suburbanly 
packaged,  and  bundled,  and  bagged,  and  even  when 
empty-handed  somehow  proclaiming  the  jaded  char- 
acter of  men  that  hurry  their  work  all  day  to  catch 
the  evening  train  out,  and  their  dreams  all  night  to 
catch  the  morning  train  in,  —  and  then  I  climb  the 
station-stairs,  and  "  hang  with  grooms  and  porters  on 
the  bridge,"  that  I  may  not  lose  my  ever-repeated 
sensation  of  having  the  train  pass  under  my  feet, 
and  of  seeing  it  rush  away  westward  to  the  pretty 
blue  hills  beyond,  —  hills  not  too  big  for  a  man  born 
in  a  plain-country  to  love.  Twisting  and  trembling 
along  the  track,  it  dwindles  rapidly  in  the  perspec- 
tive, and  is  presently  out  of  sight.  It  has  left  the 
city  and  the  suburbs  behind,  and  has  sought  the 
woods  and  meadows ;  but  Nature  never  in  the  least 
accepts  it,  and  rarely  makes  its  path  a  part  of  her 
landscape's  loveliness.  The  train  passes  alien  through 
all  her  moods  and  aspects ;  the  wounds  made  in  her 
face  by  the  road's  sharp  cuts  and  excavations  are 
slowest  of  all  wounds  to  heal,  and  the  iron  rails 
remain  to  the  last  as  shackles  upon  her.  Yet  when 
the  rails  are  removed,  as  has  happened  with  a  non- 
paying  track  in  Charlesbridge,  the  road  inspires  a 
real  tenderness  in  her.  Then  she  bids  it  take  on 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  87 

the  grace  that  belongs  to  all  ruin  ;  the  grass  creeps 
stealthily  over  the  scarified  sides  of  the  embank- 
ments ;  the  golden-rod,  and  the  purple-topped  iron- 
weed,  and  the  lady's-slipper,  spring  up  in  the  hollows 
on  either  side,  and  —  I  am  still  thinking  of  that  de- 
serted railroad  which  runs  through  Charlesbridge  — 
hide  with  their  leafage  the  empty  tomato-cans  and 
broken  bottles  and  old  boots  on  the  ash- heaps 
dumped  there ;  Nature  sets  her  velvety  willows  a 
waving  near,  and  lower  than  their  airy  tops  plans  a 
vista  of  trees  arching  above  the  track,  which  is  as 
wild  and  pretty  and  illusive  a  vista  as  the  sunset 
ever  cared  to  look  through  and  gild  a  board  fence 
beyond. 

Most  of  our  people  come  from  Boston  on  the 
horse-cars,  and  it  is  only  the  dwellers  on  the  Avenue 
and  the  neighboring  streets  whom  hurrying  home- 
ward I  follow  away  from  the  steam-car  station.  The 
Avenue  is  our  handsomest  street ;  and  if  it  were  in 
the  cosmopolitan  citizen  of  Charlesbridge  to  feel  any 
local  interest,  I  should  be  proud  of  it.  As  matters 
are,  I  perceive  its  beauty,  and  I  often  reflect,  with  a 
pardonable  satisfaction,  that  it  is  not  only  handsome, 
but  probably  the  very  dullest  street  in  the  world.  It 
is  magnificently  long  and  broad,  and  is  flanked  nearly 
the  whole  way  from  the  station  to  the  colleges  by 
pine  palaces  rising  from  spacious  lawns,  or  from  the 
green  of  trees  or  the  brightness  of  gardens.  The 
splendor  is  all  very  new  ;  but  newness  is  not  a  fault 
that  much  affects  architectural  beauty,  while  it  is  the 
only  one  that  time  is  certain  to  repair:  and  I  find  an 


88  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

honest  and  unceasing  pleasure  in  the  graceful  lines 
of  those  palaces,  which  is  not  surpassed  even  by  my 
appreciation  of  the  vast  quiet  and  monotony  of  the 
street  itself.  Commonly,  when  I  emerge  upon  it 
from  the  grassy-bordered,  succory-blossomed  walks 
of  Benicia  Street,  I  behold,  looking  northward,  a 
monumental  horse-car  standing  —  it  appears  for 
ages,  if  I  wish  to  take  it  for  Boston  —  at  the  head 
of  Pliny  Street ;  and  looking  southward  I  see  that 
other  emblem  of  suburban  life,  an  express-wagon, 
fading  rapidly  in  the  distance.  Haply  the  top  of  a 
buggy  nods  round  the  bend  under  the  elms  near  the 
station;  and,  if  fortune  is  so  lavish,  a  lady  appears 
froin  a  side  street,  and,  while  tarrying  for  the  car, 
thrusts  the  point  of  her  sun-umbrella  into  the  sandy 
sidewalk.  This  is  the  mid-afternoon  effect  of  the 
Avenue ;  but  later  in  the  day,  and  well  into  the 
dusk,  it  remembers  its  former  gayety  as  a  trotting- 
course,  —  with  here  and  there  a  spider-wagon,  a 
twinkling-footed  mare,  and  a  guttural  driver.  On 
market-days  its  superb  breadth  is  taken  up  by  flocks 
of  bleating  sheep,  and  a  pastoral  tone  is  thus  given  to 
its  tranquillity ;  anon  a  herd  of  beef-cattle  appears 
under  the  elms ;  or  a  drove  of  pigs,  many-pausing, 
inquisitive  of  the  gutters,  and  quarrelsome  as  if  they 
were  the  heirs  of  prosperity  instead  of  doom,  is 
slowly  urged  on  toward  the  shambles.  In  the  spring 
or  the  autumn,  the  Avenue  is  exceptionally  enliv- 
ened by  the  progress  of  a  brace  or  so  of  students 
who,  in  training  for  one  of  the  University  Courses 
of  base-ball  or  boating,  trot  slowly  and  earnestly 


A  PEDESTRIAN  TOUR.  89 

along  the  sidewalk,  fists  up,  elbows  down,  mouths 
shut,  and  a  sense  of  immense  responsibility  visible  in 
their  faces. 

The  summer  is  waning  with  the  day  as  I  turn 
from  the  Avenue  into  Benicia  Street.  This  is  the 
hour  when  the  fly  cedes  to  the  mosquito,  as  the  Tus- 
can poet  says,  and,  as  one  may  add,  the  frying  grass- 
hopper yields  to  the  shrilly  cricket  in  noisiness.  The 
embrowning  air  rings  with  the  sad  music  made  by 
these  innumerable  little  violinists,  hid  in  all  the  gar- 
dens round,  and  the  pedestrian  feels  a  sinking  of  the 
spirits  not  to  be  accounted  for  upon  the  theory  that 
the  street  is  duller  than  the  Avenue,  for  it  really  is 
not  so. 

Quick  now,  the  cheerful  lamps  of  kerosene  !  — 
without  their  light,  the  cry  of  those  crickets,  domi- 
nated for  an  instant,  but  not  stilled,  by  the  bellowing 
of  a  near-passing  locomotive,  and  the  baying  of  a  dis- 
tant dog,  were  too  much.  If  it  were  the  last  autumn 
that  ever  was  to  be,  it  could  not  be  heralded  with 
notes  of  dismaller  effect.  This  is  in  fact  the  hour  of 
supreme  trial  everywhere,  and  doubtless  no  one  but 
a  newly-accepted  lover  can  be  happy  at  twilight.  In 
the  city,  even,  it  is  oppressive ;  in  the  country  it  is 
desolate  ;  in  the  suburbs  it  is  a  miracle  that  it  is  ever 
lived  through.  The  night-winds  have  not  risen  yet 
to  stir  the  languid  foliage  of  the  sidewalk  maples  ; 
the  lamps  are  not  yet  lighted,  to  take  away  the 
gloom  from  the  blank,  staring  windows  of  the  houses 
near ;  it  is  too  late  for  letters,  too  early  for  a  book. 


90  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

In  town  your  fancy  would  turn  to  the  theatres ;  in 
the  country  you  would  occupy  yourself  with  cares  of 
poultry  or  of  stock :  in  the  suburbs  you  can  but  sit 
upon  your  threshold,  and  fight  the  predatory  mos- 
quito. 


BY  HORSE-CAR    TO  BOSTON. 

AT  a  former  period  the  writer  of  this  had  the  for- 
tune to  serve  his  country  in  an  Italian  city  whose 
great  claim  upon  the  world's  sentimental  interest  is 
the  fact  that  - 

"  The  sea  is  in  her  broad,  her  narrow  streets 
Ebbing  and  flowing," 

and  that  she  has  no  ways  whatever  for  hoofs  or 
wheels.  In  his  quality  of  United  States  official,  he 
was  naturally  called  upon  for  information  concerning 
the  estates  of  Italians  believed  to  have  emigrated 
early  in  the  century  to  Buenos  Ayres,  and  was  com- 
missioned to  learn  why  certain  persons  in  Mexico 
and  Brazil,  and  the  parts  of  Peru,  had  not,  if  they 
were  still  living,  written  home  to  their  friends.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  was  intrusted  with  business 
nearly  as  pertinent  and  hopeful  by  some  of  his  own 
countrymen,  and  it  was  not  quite  with  surprise  that 
he  one  day  received  a  neatly  lithographed  circular 
with  his  name  and  address  written  in  it,  signed  by  a 
famous  projector  of  such  enterprises,  asking  him  to 
cooperate  for  the  introduction  of  horse-railroads  in 
Venice.  The  obstacles  to  the  scheme  were  of  such 
a  nature  that  it  seemed  hardly  worth  while  even  to 
reply  to  the  circular ;  but  the  proposal  was  one  of 


92  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

those  bold  flights  of  imagination  which  forever  lift 
objects  out  of  vulgar  association.  It  has  cast  an 
enduring,  poetic  charm  even  about  the  horse-car  in 
my  mind,  and  I  naturally  look  for  many  unprosaic 
aspects  of  humanity  there.  I  have  an  acquaintance 
who  insists  that  it  is  the  place  above  all  others  suited 
to  see  life  in  every  striking  phase.  He  pretends  to 
have  witnessed  there  the  reunion  of  friends  who  had 
not  met  in  many  years,  the  embrace,  figurative  of 
course,  of  long  lost  brothers,  the  reconciliation  of 
lovers ;  I  do  not  know  but  also  some  scenes  of 
love-making,  and  acceptance  or  rejection.  But  my 
friend  is  an  imaginative  man,  and  may  make  himself 
romances.  I  myself  profess  to  have  beheld  for  the 
most  part  only  mysteries ;  and  I  think  it  not  the 
least  of  these  that,  riding  on  the  same  cars  day  after 
day,  one  finds  so  many  strange  faces  with  so  little 
variety.  Whether  or  not  that  dull,  jarring  motion 
shakes  inward  and  settles  about  the  centres  of  men- 
tal life  the  sprightliness  that  should  inform  the  vis- 
age, I  do  not  know ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  empti- 
ness of  the  average  passenger's  countenance  is  some- 
thing wonderful,  considered  with  reference  to  Na- 
ture's abhorrence  of  a  vacuum,  and  the  intellectual 
repute  which  Boston  enjoys  among  envious  New- 
Yorkers.  It  is  seldom  that  a  journey  out  of  our  cold 
metropolis  is  enlivened  by  a  mystery  so  positive  in 
character  as  the  young  lady  in  black,  who  alighted 
at  a  most  ordinary  little  street  in  Old  Charlesbridge, 
and  heightened  her  effect  by  going  into  a  French- 
roof  house  there  that  had  no  more  right  than  a  dry- 


BY  HORSE-CAB  TO  BOSTON.  93 

goods  box  to  receive  a  mystery.  She  was  tall,  and 
her  lovely  arms  showed  through  the  black  gauze  of 
her  dress  with  an  exquisite  roundness  and  morbidezza. 
Upon  her  beautiful  wrists  she  had  heavy  bracelets  of 
dead  gold,  fashioned  after  some  Etruscan  device  ;  and 
from  her  dainty  ears  hung  great  hoops  of  the  same 
metal  and  design,  which  had  the  singular  privilege 
of  touching,  now  and  then,  her  white  columnar  neck. 
A  massive  chain  or  necklace,  also  Etruscan,  and 
also  gold,  rose  and  fell  at  her  throat,  and  on  one  lit- 
tle ungloved  hand  glittered  a  multitude  of  rings. 
This  hand  was  very  expressive,  and  took  a  principal 
part  in  the  talk  which  the  lady  held  with  her  com- 
panion, and  was  as  alert  and  quick  as  if  trained  in 
the  gesticulation  of  Southern  or  Latin  life  some- 
where. Her  features,  on  the  contrary,  were  rather 
insipid,  being  too  small  and  fine  ;  but  they  were  re- 
deemed by  the  liquid  splendor  of  her  beautiful  eyes, 
and  the  mortal  pallor  of  her  complexion.  She  was 
altogether  so  startling  an  apparition,  that  all  of  us 
jaded,  commonplace  spectres  turned  and  fastened 
our  weary,  lack-lustre  eyes  upon  her  looks,  with  an 
utter  inability  to  remove  them.  There  was  one  fat, 
unctuous  person  seated  opposite,  to  whom  his  interest 
was  a  torture,  for  he  would  have  gone  to  sleep  except 
for  her  remarkable  presence :  as  it  was,  his  heavy 
eyelids  fell  half-way  shut,  and  drooped  there  at  an 
agonizing  angle,  while  his  eyes  remained  immovably 
fixed  upon  that  strange,  death-white  face.  How  it 
could  have  come  of  that  colorlessness,  —  whether 
through  long  sickness  or  long  residence  in  a  tropical 


94  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

climate,  —  was  a  question  that  perplexed  another  of 
the  passengers,  who  would  have  expected  to  hear 
the  lady  speak  any  language  in  the  world  rather  than 
English ;  and  to  whom  her  companion  or  attendant 
was  hardly  less  than  herself  a  mystery, —  being  a 
dragon-like,  elderish  female,  clearly  a  Yankee  by 
birth,  but  apparently  of  many  years'  absence  from 
home.  The  propriety  of  extracting  these  people 
from  the  horse-cars  and  transferring  them  bodily  to 
the  first  chapter  of  a  romance  was  a  thing  about 
which  there  could  be  no  manner  of  doubt,  and  noth- 
ing prevented  the  abduction  but  the  unexpected  vol- 
untary exit  of  the  pale  lady.  As  she  passed  out 
everybody  else  awoke  as  from  a  dream,  or  as  if  freed 
from  a  potent  fascination.  It  is  part  of  the  mystery 
that  this  lady  should  never  have  reappeared  in  that 
theatre  of  life,  the  horse-car ;  but  I  cannot  regret 
having  never  seen  her  more  ;  she  was  so  inestimably 
precious  to  wonder  that  it  would  have  been  a  kind  of 
loss  to  learn  anything  about  her. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  should  be  glad  if  two  young 
men  who  once  presented  themselves  as  mysteries 
upon  the  same  stage  could  be  so  distinctly  and 
sharply  identified  that  all  mankind  should  recognize 
them  at  the  day  of  judgment.  They  were  not  so 
remarkable  in  the  nature  as  in  the  degree  of  their 
offense  ;  for  the  mystery  that  any  man  should  keep 
his  seat  in  a  horse-car  and  let  a  woman  stand  is  but 
too  sadly  common.  They  say  that  this  public  un- 
kindness  to  the  sex  has  come  about  through  the  in- 
gratitude of  women,  who  have  failed  to  return  thanks 


BY  HORSE-CAR  TO  BOSTON.  95 

for  places  offered  them,  and  that  it  is  a  just  and 
noble  revenge  we  take  upon  them.  There  might  be 
something  advanced  in  favor  of  the  idea  that  we  law- 
making  men,  who  do  not  oblige  the  companies 
to  provide  seats  for  every  one,  deserve  no  thanks 
from  voteless,  helpless  women  when  we  offer  them 
places  ;  nay,  that  we  ought  to  be  glad  if  they  do  not 
reproach  us  for  making  that  a  personal  favor  which 
ought  to  be  a  common  right.  I  would  prefer,  on  the 
whole,  to  believe  that  this  selfishness  is  not  a  con- 
certed act  on  our  part,  but  a  flower  of  advanced  civ- 
ilization; it  is  a  ripe  fruit  in  European  countries, 
and  it  is  more  noticeable  in  Boston  than  anywhere 
else  in  America.  It  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  points  of 
our  high  polish  which  people  from  the  interior  say 
first  strikes  them  on  coming  among  us;  for  they  de- 
clare —  no  doubt  too  modestly  —  that  in  their  Boeo- 
tian wilds  our  Athenian  habit  is  almost  unknown. 
Yet  it  would  not  be  fair  to  credit  our  whole  popula- 
tion with  it.  I  have  seen  a  laborer  or  artisan  rise 
from  his  place  and  offer  it  to  a  lady,  while  a  dozen 
well-dressed  men  kept  theirs  ;  and  I  know  several 
conservative  young  gentlemen,  who  are  still  so  old- 
fashioned  as  always  to  respect  the  weakness  and  wea- 
riness of  women.  One  of  them,  I  hear,  has  settled 
it  in  his  own  mind  that  if  the  family  cook  appears  in 
a  car  where  he  is  seated,  he  must  rise  and  give  her 
his  place.  This,  perhaps,  is  a  trifle  idealistic ;  but  it 
is  magnificent,  it  is  princely.  From  his  difficult 
height,  we  decline  —  through  ranks  that  sacrifice 
themselves  for  women  with  bundles  or  children  in 


96  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

arms,  for  old  ladies,  or  for  very  young  and  pretty 
ones  —  to  the  men  who   give  no  odds  to  the  most 
helpless  creature  alive.     These  are  the  men  who  do 
not  act  upon  the  promptings  of  human  nature  like 
the  laborer,  and  who  do  not  refine  upon  their  duty 
like  my  young  gentlemen,  and  make  it  their  privilege 
to  befriend  the  idea  of  womanhood ;  they  are  men  who 
have  paid  for  their  seats  and  are  going  to  keep  them. 
They  have  been  at  work,  very  probably,  all  day,  and 
no  doubt  they  are  tired ;  they  look  so,  and  try  hard 
not  to  look  ashamed  of  publicly  considering  them- 
selves before  a  sex  which  is  born  tired,  and   from 
which  our  climate  and  customs  have  drained  so  much 
health  that  society  sometimes  seems  little  better  than 
a  hospital  for  invalid  woman,  where  every  courtesy 
is  likely  to  be  a  mercy  done  to  a  sufferer.     Yet  the 
two  young  men  of  whom  I  began  to  speak  were  not 
apparently  of  this  class,  and  let  us  hope  they  were 
foreigners,  —  say  Englishmen,  since  we  hate  English- 
men the  most.     They  were  the  only  men  seated,  in 
a  car  full  of  people ;  and  when  four  or  five  ladies 
came  in  and  occupied  the  aisle   before   them,  they 
might  have  been  puzzled  which  to  offer  their  places 
to,  if  one  of  the  ladies  had  not  plainly  been  infirm. 
They    settled   the    question  —  if  there   was   any  in 
their  minds  —  by  remaining  seated,  while  the  lady 
in  front  of  them  swung  uneasily  to  and  fro  with  the 
car,  and  appeared  ready  to  sink  at  their  feet.     In 
another  moment  she  had  actually  done  so ;  and,  too 
weary  to   rise,  she   continued   to   crouch  upon  the 
floor  of  the  car  for  the  course  of  a  mile,  the  young 


BY  HORSE-CAR  TO   BOSTON.  97 

men  resolutely  keeping  their  places,  and  not  rising 
till  they  were  ready  to  leave  the  car.  It  was  a  horri- 
ble scene,  and  incredible,  —  that  well-dressed  woman 
sitting  on  the  floor,  and  those  two  well-dressed  men 
keeping  their  places  ;  it  was  as  much  out  of  keeping 
with  our  smug  respectabilities  as  a  hanging,  and  was 
a  spectacle  so  paralyzing  that  public  opinion  took  no 
action  concerning  it.  A  shabby  person,  standing 
upon  the  platform  outside,  swore  about  it,  between 
expectorations :  even  the  conductor's  heart  was 
touched  ;  and  he  said  he  had  seen  a  good  many  hard 
things  aboard  horse-cars,  but  that  was  a  little  the 
hardest ;  he  had  never  expected  to  come  to  that. 
These  were  simple  people  enough,  and  could  not  in- 
terest me  a  great  deal,  but  I  should  have  liked  to 
have  a  glimpse  of  the  complex  minds  of  those  young 
men,  and  I  should  still  like  to  know  something  of  the 
previous  life  that  could  have  made  their  behavior  pos- 
sible to  them.  They  ought  to  make  public  the  philo- 
sophic methods  by  which  they  reached  that  pass  of 
unshamable  selfishness.  The  information  would  be 
useful  to  a  race  which  knows  the  sweetness  of  self- 
indulgence,  and  would  fain  know  the  art  of  so  drug- 
ging or  besotting  the  sensibilities  that  it  shall  not 
feel  disgraced  by  any  sort  of  meanness.  They  might 
really  have  much  to  say  for  themselves  ;  as,  that  the 
lady,  being  conscious  she  could  no  longer  keep  her 
feet,  had  no  right  to  crouch  at  theirs,  and  put  them 
to  so  severe  a  test ;  or  that,  having  suffered  her  to 
sink  there,  they  fell  no  further  in  the  ignorant  public 
opinion  by  suffering  her  to  continue  there. 
7 


98  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

But  I  doubt  if  that  other  young  man  could  say 
anything  for  himself,  who,  when  a  pale,  trembling 
woman  was  about  to  drop  into  the  vacant  place  at 
his  side,  stretched  his  arm  across  it  with,  "This 
seat's  engaged,"  till  a  robust  young  fellow,  his  friend, 
appeared,  and  took  it  and  kept  it  all  the  way  out  from 
Boston.  The  commission  of  such  a  tragical  wrong, 
involving  a  violation  of  common  usage  as  well  as  the 
infliction  of  a  positive  cruelty,  would  embitter  the 
life  of  an  ordinary  man,  if  any  ordinary  man  were 
capable  of  it;  but  let  us  trust  that  nature  has  pro- 
vided fortitude  of  every  kind  for  the  offender,  and 
that  he  is  not  wrung  by  keener  remorse  than  most 
would  feel  for  a  petty  larceny.  I  dare  say  he  would 
be  eager  at  the  first  opportunity  to  rebuke  the  in- 
gratitude of  women  who  do  not  thank  their  benefac- 
tors for  giving  them  seats.  It  seems  a  little  odd,  by 
the  way,  and  perhaps  it  is  through  the  peculiar  bless- 
ing of  Providence,  that,  since  men  have  determined 
by  a  savage  egotism  to  teach  the  offending  sex  man- 
ners, their  own  comfort  should  be  in  the  infliction  of 
the  penalty,  and  that  it  should  be  as  much  a  pleasure 
as  a  duty  to  keep  one's  place. 

Perhaps  when  the  ladies  come  to  vote,  they  will 
abate,  with  other  nuisances,  the  whole  business  of 
overloaded  public  conveyances.  In  the  mean  time, 
the  kindness  of  women  to  each  other  is  a  notable  fea- 
ture of  all  horse-car  journeys.  It  is  touching  to  see 
the  smiling  eagerness  with  which  the  poor  things 
gather  close  their  volumed  skirts  and  make  room  for 
a  weary  sister,  the  tender  looks  of  compassion  which 


BY  HOESE-CAE   TO  BOSTON.  99 

they  bend  upon  the  sufferers  obliged  to  stand,  the 
sweetness  with  which  they  rise,  if  they  are  young 
and  strong,  to  offer  their  place  to  any  infirm  or 
heavily  burdened  person  of  their  sex. 

But  a  journey  to  Boston  is  not  entirely  an  expe- 
rience of  bitterness.  On  the  contrary,  there  are  many 
things  besides  the  mutual  amiability  of  these  beautiful 
martyrs  which  relieve  its  tedium  and  horrors.  A 
whole  car-full  of  people,  brought  into  the  closest 
contact  with  one  another,  yet  in  the  absence  of  in- 
troductions never  exchanging  a  word,  each  being  so 
sufficient  to  himself  as  to  need  no  social  stimulus 
whatever,  is  certainly  an  impressive  and  stately  spec- 
tacle. It  is  a  beautiful  day,  say ;  but  far  be  it  from 
me  to  intimate  as  much  to  my  neighbor,  who  plainly 
would  rather  die  than  thus  commit  himself  with  me, 
and  who,  in  fact,  would  well-nigh  strike  me  speech- 
less with  surprise  if  he  did  so.  If  there  is  any  ne- 
cessity for  communication,  as  with  the  conductor,  we 
essay  first  to  express  ourselves  by  gesture,  and  then 
utter  our  desires  with  a  certain  hollow  and  remote 
effect,  which  is  not  otherwise  to  be  described.  I  have 
sometimes  tried  to  speak  above  my  breath,  when, 
being  about  to  leave  the  car,  I  have  made  a  virtue 
of  offering  my  place  to  the  prettiest  young  woman 
standing,  but  I  have  found  it  impossible  ;  the  genius 
loci,  whatever  it  was,  suppressed  me,  and  I  have 
gasped  out  my  sham  politeness  as  in  a  courteous 
nightmare.  The  silencing  influence  is  quite  success- 
fully resisted  by  none  but  the  tipsy  people  who 
occasionally  ride  out  with  us,  and  call  up  a  smile, 


100  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

sad  as  a  gleam  of  winter  sunshine,  to  our  faces  by  their 
artless  prattle.  I  remember  one  eventful  afternoon 
that  we  were  all  but  moved  to  laughter  by  the  gayeties 
of  such  a  one,  who,  even  after  he  had  ceased  to  talk, 
continued  to  amuse  as  by  falling  asleep,  and  repos- 
ing himself  against  the  shoulder  of  the  lady  next  him. 
Perhaps  it  is  in  acknowledgment  of  the  agreeable 
variety  they  contribute  to  horse-car  life,  that  the 
conductor  treats  his  inebriate  passengers  with  such 
unfailing  tenderness  and  forbearance.  I  have  never 
seen  them  molested,  though  I  have  noticed  them  in 
the  indulgence  of  many  eccentricities,  and  happened 
once  even  to  see  one  of  them  sit  down  in  a  lady's  lap. 
But  that  was  on  the  night  of  Saint  Patrick's  day. 
Generally  all  avoidable  indecorums  are  rare  in  the 
horse-cars,  though  during  the  late  forenoon  and  early 
afternoon,  in  the  period  of  lighter  travel,  I  have 
found  curious  figures  there  :  —  among  others,  two 
old  women,  in  the  old-clothes  business,  one  of  whom 
was  dressed,  not  very  fortunately,  in  a  gown  with 
short  sleeves,  and  inferentially  a  low  neck ;  a  mender 
of  umbrellas,  with  many  unwholesome  whity-brown 
wrecks  of  umbrellas  about  him  ;  a  peddler  of  soap, 
who  offered  cakes  of  it  to  his  fellow-passengers  at  a 
discount,  apparently  for  friendship's  sake  ;  and  a  cer- 
tain gentleman  with  a  pock-marked  face,  and  a  beard 
dyed  an  unscrupulous  purple,  who  sang  himself  a 
hymn  all  the  way  to  Boston,  and  who  gave  me  no 
sufficient  reason  for  thinking  him  a  sea-captain.  Not 
far  from  the  end  of  the  Long  Bridge,  there  is  apt  to 
be  a  number  of  colored  ladies  waiting  to  get  into  the 


BY  HORSE-CAR   TO   BOSTON.  101 

car,  or  to  get  out  of  it,  —  usually  one  solemn  mother 
in  Ethiopia,  and  two  or  three  mirthful  daughters, 
who  find  it  hard  to  suppress  a  sense  of  adventure, 
and  to  keep  in  the  laughter  that  struggles  out  through 
their  glittering  teeth  and  eyes,  and  who  place  each 
other  at  a  disadvantage  by  divers  accidental  and  in- 
tentional bumps  and  blows.  If  they  are  to  get  out, 
the  old  lady  is  not  certain  of  the  place  where,  and, 
after  making  the  car  stop,  and  parleying  with  the 
conductor,  returns  to  her  seat,  and  is  mutely  held 
up  to  public  scorn  by  one  taciturn  wink  of  the  con- 
ductor's eye. 

Among  horse-car  types,  I  am  almost  ashamed  to 
note  one  so  common  and  observable  as  that  middle- 
aged  lady  who  gets  aboard  and  will  not  see  the  one 
vacant  seat  left,  but  stands  tottering  at  the  door, 
blind  and  deaf  to  all  the  modest  beckonings  and 
benevolent  gasps  of  her  fellow-passengers.  An  air 
as  of  better  days  clings  about  her ;  she  seems  a  per- 
son who  has  known  sickness  and  sorrow ;  but  so  far 
from  pitying  her,  you  view  her  with  inexpressible 
rancor,  for  it  is  plain  that  she  ought  to  sit  down, 
and  that  she  will  not.  But  for  a  point  of  honor  the 
conductor  would  show  her  the  vacant  place  ;  this 
forbidding,  however,  how  can  he  ?  There  she 
stands  and  sniffs  drearily  when  you  glance  at  her,  as 
you  must  from  time  to  time,  and  no  wild  turkey 
caught  in  a  trap  was  ever  more  incapable  of  looking 
down  than  this  middle-aged  (shall  I  say  also  un- 
married?) lady. 

Of  course  every  one  knows  the  ladies  and  gentle- 


102  SUBUKBAN  SKETCHES. 

men  who  sit  eater-cornered,  and  who  will  not  move 
up  ;  and  equally  familiar  is  that  large  and  ponderous 
person,  who,  feigning  to  sit  down  beside  you,  practi- 
cally sits  down  upon  you,  and  is  not  incommoded  by 
having  your  knee  under  him.  He  implies  by  this 
brutal  conduct  that  you  are  taking  up  more  space 
than  belongs  to  you,  and  that  you  are  justly  made 
an  example  of. 

I  had  the  pleasure  one  day  to  meet  on  the  horse- 
car  an  advocate  of  one  of  the  great  reforms  of  the 
day.  He  held  a  green  bag  upon  his  knees,  and  with- 
out any  notice  passed  from  a  question  of  crops  to  a 
discussion  of  suffrage  for  the  negro,  and  so  to  woman- 
hood suffrage.  "  Let  the  women  vote,"  said  he, — 
"  let  'em  vote  if  they  want  to.  I  don't  care.  Fact  is, 
I  should  like  to  see  'em  do  it  the  first  time.  They're 
excitable,  you  know ;  they're  excitable ;  "  and  he 
enforced  his  analysis  of  female  character  by  thrusting 
his  elbow  sharply  into  my  side.  "  Now,  there's  my 
wife ;  I'd  like  to  see  Tier  vote.  Be  fun,  I  tell  you. 
And  the  girls,  —  Lord,  the  girls !  Circus  wouldn't 
be  anywhere."  Enchanted  with  the  picture  which 
he  appeared  to  have  conjured  up  for  himself,  he 
laughed  with  the  utmost  relish,  and  then  patting  the 
green  bag  in  his  lap,  which  plainly  contained  a  violin, 
"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "  I  go  out  playing  for  danc- 
ing-parties. Work  all  day  at  my  trade,  —  I'm  a 
carpenter,  —  and  play  in  the  evening.  Take  my  little 
old  ten  dollars  a  night.  And  I  notice  the  women  a 
good  deal ;  and  /  tell  you  they're  all  excitable,  and 
1  sh?d  like  to  see  'em  vote.  Vote  right  and  vote 


BY  HOKSE-CAR  TO  BOSTON.         103 

often,  —  that's  the  ticket,  eh  ?  "  This  friend  of 
womanhood  suffrage  —  whose  attitude  of  curiosity  and 
expectation  seemed  to  me  representative  of  that  of 
a  great  many  thinkers  on  the  subject — no  doubt  was 
otherwise  a  reformer,  and  held  that  the  coming  man 
would  not  drink  wine  —  if  he  could  find  whiskey. 
At  least  I  should  have  said  so,  guessing  from  the 
odors  he  breathed  along  with  his  liberal  sentiments. 

Something  of  the  character  of  a  college-town  is 
observable  nearly  always  in  the  presence  of  the 
students,  who  confound  certain  traditional  ideas  of 
students  by  their  quietude  of  costume  and  manner, 
and  whom  Padua  or  Heidelberg  would  hardly  know, 
but  who  nevertheless  betray  that  they  are  band- 
ed to  — 

"  Scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days," 

by  a  uniformity  in  the  cut  of  their  trousers,  or  a 
clannishness  of  cane  or  scarf,  or  a  talk  of  boats  and 
base-ball  held  among  themselves.  One  cannot  see 
them  without  pleasure  and  kindness ;  and  it  is  no 
wonder  that  their  young-lady  acquaintances  brighten 
so  to  recognize  them  on  the  horse-cars.  There  is 
much  good  fortune  in  the  world,  but  none  better  than 
being  an  undergraduate  twenty  years  old,  hale, 
handsome,  fashionably  dressed,  with  the  whole  prom- 
ise of  life  before  :  it's  a  state- of  things  to  disarm  even 
envy.  With  so  much  youth  forever  in  her  heart,  it 
must  be  hard  for  our  Charlesbridge  to  grow  old  :  the 
generations  arise  and  pass  away,  but  in  her  veins  is 
still  this  tide  of  warm  blood,  century  in  and  century 
out,  so  much  the  same  from  one  age  to  another  that 


104  SUBURBAN    SKETCHES. 

it  would  be  hardy  to  say  it  was  not  still  one  youthful- 
ness.  There  is  a  print  of  the  village  as  it  was  a  cycle 
since,  showing  the  oldest  of  the  college  buildings, 
and  upon  the  street  in  front  a  scholar  in  his  schol- 
ar's-cap  and  gown,  giving  his  arm  to  a  very  stylish 
girl  of  that  period,  who  is  dressed  wonderfully  like 
the  girl  of  ours,  so  that  but  for  the  student's  antique 
formality  of  costume,  one  might  believe  that  he  was 
handing  her  out  to  take  the  horse-car.  There  is  no 
horse-car  in  the  picture, — that  is  the  only  real  differ- 
ence between  then  and  now  in  our  Charlesbridge, 
perennially  young  and  gay.  Have  there  not  ever 
been  here  the  same  grand  ambitions,  the  same  high 
hopes, — and  is  not  the  unbroken  succession  of  youth 
in  these  ? 

As  for  other  life  on  the  horse-car,  it  shows  to  little 
or  no  effect,  as  I  have  said.  You  can,  of  course,  detect 
certain  classes ;  as,  in  the  morning  the  business-men 
going  in,  to  their  counters  or  their  desks,  and  in  the 
afternoon  the  shoppers  coming  out,  laden  with  paper 
parcels.  But  I  think  no  one  can  truly  claim  to  know 
the  regular  from  the  occasional  passengers  by  any 
greater  cheerfulness  in  the  faces  of  the  latter.  The 
horse-car  will  suffer  no  such  inequality  as  this,  but 
reduces  us  all  to  the  same  level  of  melancholy.  It 
would  be  but  a  very  unworthy  kind  of  art  which 
should  seek  to  describe  people  by  such  merely  exter- 
nal traits  as  a  habit  of  carrying  baskets  or  large 
travelling-bags  in  the  car ;  and  the  present  muse 
scorns  it,  but  is  not  above  speaking  of  the  frequent 
presence  of  those  lovely  young  girls  in  which  Boston 


BY  HORSE-CAR  TO  BOSTON.         105 

and  the  suburban  towns  abound,  and  who,  whether 
they  appear  with  rolls  of  music  in  their  hands,  or 
books  from  the  circulating-libraries,  or  pretty  parcels 
or  hand-bags,  would  brighten  even  the  horse-car  if 
fresh  young  looks  and  gay  and  brilliant  costumes  could 
do  so  much.  But  they  only  add  perplexity  to  the 
anomaly,  which  was  already  sufficiently  trying  with 
its  contrasts  of  splendor  and  shabbiness,  and  such 
intimate  association  of  velvets  and  patches  as  you  see 
in  the  churches  of  Catholic  countries,  but  nowhere 
else  in  the  world  except  in  our  "  coaches  of  the 
sovereign  people." 

In  winter,  the  journey  to  or  from  Boston  cannot 
appear  otherwise  than  very  dreary  to  the  fondest 
imagination.  Coming  out,  nothing  can  look  more 
arctic  and  forlorn  than  the  river,  double-shrouded  in 
ice  and  snow,  or  sadder  than  the  contrast  offered  to 
the  same  prospect  in  summer.  Then  all  is  laughing, 
and  it  is  a  joy  in  every  nerve  to  ride  out  over  the 
Long  Bridge  at  high  tide,  and,  looking  southward, 
to  see  the  wide  crinkle  and  glitter  of  that  beautiful 
expanse  of  water,  which  laps  on  one  hand  the  gran- 
ite quays  of  the  city,  and  on  the  other  washes  among 
the  reeds  and  wild  grasses  of  the  salt-meadows.  A 
ship  coming  slowly  up  the  channel,  or  a  dingy  tug 
violently  darting  athwart  it,  gives  an  additional  pleas- 
ure to  the  eye,  and  adds  something  dreamy  or  vivid 
to  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  It  is  hard  to  say  at  what 
hour  of  the  summer  "s-day  the  prospect  is  loveliest ; 
and  I  am  certainly  not  going  to  speak  of  the  sunset 
as  the  least  of  its  delights.  When  this  exquisite 


106  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

spectacle  is  presented,  the  horse-car  passenger,  happy 
to  cling  with  one  foot  to  the  rear  platform-steps, 
looks  out  over  the  shoulder  next  him  into  fairy-land. 
Crimson  and  purple  the  bay  stretches  westward  till 
its  waves  darken  into  the  grassy  levels,  where,  here 
and  there,  a  hay-rick  shows  perfectly  black  against 
the  light.  Afar  off,  southeastward  and  westward, 
the  uplands  wear  a  tinge  of  tenderest  blue ;  and  in 
the  nearer  distance,  on  the  low  shores  of  the  river, 
hover  the  white  plumes  of  arriving  and  departing 
trains.  The  windows  of  the  stately  houses  that  over- 
look the  water  take  the  sunset  from  it  evanescently, 
and  begin  to  chill  and  darken  before  the  crimson 
burns  out  of  the  sky.  The  windows  are,  in  fact,  best 
after  nightfall,  when  they  are  brilliantly  lighted  from 
within ;  and  when,  if  it  is  a  dark,  warm  night,  and 
the  briny  fragrance  comes  up  strong  from  the  falling 
tide,  the  lights  reflected  far  down  in  the  still  water, 
bring  a  dream,  as  I  have  heard  travelled  Bostonians 
say,  of  Venice  and  her  magical  effects  in  the  same 
kind.  But  for  me  the  beauty  of  the  scene  needs  the 
help  of  no  such  association ;  I  am  content  with  it  for 
what  it  is.  I  enjoy  also  the  hints  of  spring  which 
one  gets  in  riding  over  the  Long  Bridge  at  low  tide 
in  the  first  open  days.  Then  there  is  not  only  a 
vernal  beating  of  carpets  on  the  piers  of  the  draw- 
bridge, but  the  piles  and  walls  left  bare  by  the  re- 
ceding water  show  green  patches  of  sea-weeds  and 
mosses,  and  flatter  the  willing  eye  with  a  dim  hint 
of  summer.  This  reeking  and  saturated  herbage, 
—  which  always  seems  to  me,  in  contrast  with  dry- 


BY  HORSE-CAR  TO  BOSTON.  107 

land  growths,  what  the  water-logged  life  of  seafaring 
folk  is  to  that  which  we  happier  men  lead  on  shore, 
—  taking  so  kindly  the  deceitful  warmth  and  bright- 
ness of  the  sun,  has  then  a  charm  which  it  loses 
when  summer  really  comes  ;  nor  does  one,  later,  have 
so  keen  an  interest  in  the  men  wading  about  in  the 
shallows  below  the  bridge,  who,  as  in  the  distance 
they  stoop  over  to  gather  whatever  shell-fish  they 
seek,  make  a  very  fair  show  of  being  some  ungainlier 
sort  of  storks,  and  are  as  near  as  we  can  hope  to  come 
to  the  spring-prophesying  storks  of  song  and  story. 
A  sentiment  of  the  drowsiness  that  goes  before  the 
awakening  of  the  year,  and  is  so  different  from  the 
drowsiness  that  precedes  the  great  autumnal  slumber, 
is  in  the  air,  but  is  gone  when  we  leave  the  river 
behind,  and  strike  into  the  straggling  village  be- 
yond. 

I  maintain  that  Boston,  as  one  approaches  it  and 
passingly  takes  in  the  line  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument, 
soaring  preeminent  among  the  emulous  foundry- 
chimneys  of  the  sister  city,  is  fine  enough  to  need 
no  comparison  with  other  fine  sights.  Thanks  to  the 
mansard  curves  and  dormer-windows  of  the  newer 
houses,  there  is  a  singularly  picturesque  variety 
among  the  roofs  that  stretch  along  the  bay,  and  rise 
one  above  another  on  the  city's  three  hills,  grouping 
themselves  about  the  State  House,  and  surmounted 
by  its  India-rubber  dome.  But,  after  all,  does  human 
weakness  crave  some  legendary  charm,  some  grace 
of  uncertain  antiquity,  in  the  picture squeness  it  sees  ? 
I  own  that  the  future,  to  which  we  are  often  re- 


108  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

ferred  for  the  "  stuff  that  dreams  are  made  of,"  is 
more  difficult  for  the  fancy  than  the  past,  that  the 
airy  amplitude  of  its  possibilities  is  somewhat  chilly, 
and  that  we  naturally  long  for  the  snug  quarters  of 
old,  made  warm  by  many  generations  of  life.  Be- 
sides, Europe  spoils  us  ingenuous  Americans,  and 
flatters  our  sentimentality  into  ruinous  extrava- 
gances. Looking  at  her  many-storied  former  times, 
we  forget  our  own  past,  neat,  compact,  and  conven- 
ient for  the  poorest  memory  to  dwell  in.  Yet  an 
American  not  infected  with  the  discontent  of  travel 
could  hardly  approach  this  superb  city  without  feel- 
ing something  of  the  coveted  pleasure  in  her,  without 
a  reverie  of  her  Puritan  and  Revolutionary  times, 
and  the  great  names  and  deeds  of  her  heroic  annals. 
I  think,  however,  we  were  well  to  be  rid  of  this 
yearning  for  a  native  American  antiquity ;  for  in  its 
indulgence  one  cannot  but  regard  himself  and  his 
contemporaries  as  cumberers  of  the  ground,  delay- 
ing the  consummation  of  that  hoary  past  which  will 
be  so  fascinating  to  a  semi-Chinese  posterity,  and 
will  be,  ages  hence,  the  inspiration  of  Pigeon-English 
poetry  and  romance.  Let  us  make  much  of  our  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  and  cherish  the  present  as 
our  golden  age.  We  healthy-minded  people  in  the 
horse-cars  are  loath  to  lose  a  moment  of  it,  and  are 
aggrieved  that  the  draw  of  the  bridge  should  be  up, 
naturally  looking  on  what  is  constantly  liable  to  hap- 
pen as  an  especial  malice  of  the  fates.  All  the  dri- 
vers of  the  vehicles  that  clog  the  draw  on  either  side 
have  a  like  sense  of  personal  injury ;  and  apparently 


BY  HORSE-CAR  TO  BOSTON.  100 

it  would  go  hard  with  the  captain  of  that  leisurely 
vessel  below  if  he  were  delivered  into  our  hands. 
But  this  impatience  and  anger  are  entirely  illusive. 

We  are  really  the  most  patient  people  in  the  world, 
especially  as  regards  any  incorporated,  non-political 
oppressions.  A  lively  Gaul,  who  travelled  among  us 
some  thirty  years  ago,  found  that,  in  the  absence  of 
political  control,  we  gratified  the  human  instinct  of 
obedience  by  submitting  to  small  tyrannies  unknown 
abroad,  and  were  subject  to  the  steamboat- captain, 
the  hotel-clerk,  the  stage-driver,  and  the  waiter,  who 
all  bullied  us  fearlessly  ;  but  though  some  vestiges  of 
this  bondage  remain,  it  is  probably  passing  away. 
The  abusive  Frenchman's  assertion  would  not  at  least 
hold  good  concerning  the  horse-car  conductors,  who, 
in  spite  of  a  lingering  preference  for  touching  or 
punching  passengers  for  their  fare  instead  of  asking 
for  it,  are  commonly  mild-mannered  and  good-tem- 
pered, and  disposed  to  molest  us  as  little  as  possible. 
I  have  even  received  from  one  of  them  a  mark  of 
such  kindly  familiarity  as  the  offer  of  a  check  which 
he  held  between  his  lips,  and  thrust  out  his  face  to 
give  me,  both  his  hands  being  otherwise  occupied ; 
and  their  lives  are  in  nowise  such  luxurious  careers 
as  we  should  expect  in  public  despots.  The  oppres- 
sion of  the  horse-car  passenger  is  not  from  them,  and 
the  passenger  himself  is  finally  to  blame  for  it.  When 
the  draw  closes  at  last,  and  we  rumble  forward  into 
the  city  street,  a  certain  stir  of  expectation  is  felt 
among  us.  The  long  and  eventful  journey  is  nearly 
ended,  and  now  we  who  are  to  get  out  of  the  cars 


110  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

can  philosophically  amuse  ourselves  with  the  passions 
and  sufferings  of  those  who  are  to  return  in  our 
places.  You  must  choose  the  time  between  five  and 
six  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  if  you  would  make  this 
grand  study  of  the  national  character  in  its  perfec- 
tion. Then  the  spectacle  offered  in  any  arriving 
horse-car  will  serve  your  purpose.  At  nearly  every 
corner  of  the  street  up  which  it  climbs  stands  an 
experienced  suburban,  who  darts  out  upon  the  car, 
and  seizes  a  vacant  place  in  it.  Presently  all  the 
places  are  taken,  and  before  we  reach  Temple  Street, 
where  helpless  groups  of  women  are  gathered  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  first  seats  vacated,  an  alert 
citizen  is  stationed  before  each  passenger  who  is  to 
retire  at  the  summons,  "Please  pass  out  forrad." 
When  this  is  heard  in  Bowdoin  Square,  we  rise  and 
push  forward,  knuckling  one  another's  backs  in  our 
eagerness,  and  perhaps  glancing  behind  us  at  the  tu- 
mult within.  Not  only  are  all  our  places  occupied, 
but  the  aisle  is  left  full  of  passengers  precariously 
supporting  themselves  by  the  straps  in  the  roof.  The 
rear  platform  is  stormed  and  carried  by  a  party  with 
bundles;  the  driver  is  instantly  surrounded  by  an- 
other detachment ;  and  as  the  car  moves  away  from 
the  office,  the  platform  steps  are  filled. 

"Is  it  possible,"  I  asked  myself,  when  I  had 
written  as  far  as  this  in  the  present  noble  history, 
"  that  I  am  not  exaggerating  ?  It  can't  be  that  this 
and  the  other  enormities  I  have  been  describing  are 
of  daily  occurrence  in  Boston.  Let  me  go  verify, 
at  least,  my  picture  of  the  evening  horse-car."  So 


BY  HOKSE-CAK  TO  BOSTON.  Ill 

I  take  my  way  to  Bowdoin  Square,  and  in  the  con- 
scientious spirit  of  modern  inquiry,  I  get  aboard  the 
first  car  that  comes  up.  Like  every  other  car,  it  is 
meant  to  seat  twenty  passengers.  It  does  this,  and 
besides  it  carries  in  the  aisle  and  on  the  platform 
forty  passengers  standing.  The  air  is  what  you  may 
imagine,  if  you  know  that  not  only  is  the  place  so 
indecently  crowded,  but  that  in  the  centre  of  the  car 
are  two  adopted  citizens,  far  gone  in  drink,  who  have 
the  aspect  and  the  smell  of  having  passed  the  day  in 
an  ash-heap.  These  citizens  being  quite  helpless 
themselves,  are  supported  by  the  public,  and  repose 
in  singular  comfort  upon  all  the  passengers  near 
them ;  I,  myself,  contribute  an  aching  back  to  the 
common  charity,  and  a  genteelly  dressed  young  lady 
takes  one  of  them  from  time  to  time  on  her  knee.  But 
they  are  comparatively  an  ornament  to  society  till  the 
conductor  objects  to  the  amount  they  offer  him  for 
fare  ;  for  after  that  they  wish  to  fight  him  during  the 
journey,  and  invite  him  at  short  intervals  to  step  out 
and  be  shown  what  manner  of  men  they  are.  The 
conductor  passes  it  off  for  a  joke,  and  so  it  is,  and  a 
very  good  one. 

In  that  unhappy  mass  it  would  be  an  audacious 
spirit  who  should  say  of  any  particular  arm  or  leg, 
"  It  is  mine,"  and  all  the  .breath  is  in  common. 
Nothing,  it  would  seem,  could  add  to  our  misery; 
but  we  discover  our  error  when  the  conductor 
squeezes  a  tortuous  path  through  us,  and  collects  the 
money  for  our  transportation.  I  never  can  tell,  dur- 


112  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

ing  the  performance  of  this  feat,  whether  he  or  the 
passengers  are  more  to  be  pitied. 

The  people  who  are  thus  indecorously  huddled  and 
jammed  together,  without  regard  to  age  or  sex,  other- 
wise lead  lives  of  at  least  comfort,  and  a  good  half  of 
them  cherish  themselves  in  every  physical  way  with 
unparalleled  zeal.  They  are  handsomely  clothed ; 
they  are  delicately  neat  in  linen ;  they  eat  well,  or,  if 
not  well,  as  well  as  their  cooks  will  let  them,  and  at 
all  events  expensively  ;  they  house  in  dwellings  ap- 
pointed in  a  manner  undreamt  of  elsewhere  in  the 
world,  —  dwellings  wherein  furnaces  make  a  sum- 
mer-heat, where  fountains  of  hot  and  cold  water  flow 
at  a  touch,  where  light  is  created  or  quenched  by  the 
turning  of  a  key,  where  all  is  luxurious  upholstery, 
and  magical  ministry  to  real  or  fancied  needs.  They 
carry  the  same  tastes  with  them  to  their  places  of 
business  ;  and  when  they  "  attend  divine  service," 
it  is  with  the  understanding  that  God  is  to  receive 
them  in  a  richly  carpeted  house,  deliciously  warmed 
and  perfectly  ventilated,  where  they  may  adore  Him 
at  their  ease  upon  cushioned  seats,  —  secured  seats. 
Yet  these  spoiled  children  of  comfort,  when  they  ride 
to  or  from  business  or  church,  fail  to  assert  rights 
that  the  benighted  Cockney,  who  never  heard  of  our 
plumbing  and  registers,  or  even  the  oppressed  Paris- 
ian, who  is  believed  not  to  change  his  linen  from 
one  revolution  to  another,  having  paid  for,  enjoys. 
When  they  enter  the  "  full "  horse-car,  they  find 
themselves  in  a  place  inexorable  as  the  grave  to 


BY  HORSE-CAR   TO   BOSTON.  113 

tlieir  greenbacks,  where  not  only  is  their  adventi- 
tious consequence  stripped  from  them,  but  the  cour- 
tesies of  life  are  impossible,  the  inherent  dignity  of 
the  person  is  denied,  and  they  are  reduced  below  the 
level  of  the  most  uncomfortable  nations  of  the  Old 
World.  The  philosopher  accustomed  to  draw  con- 
solation from  the  sufferings  of  his  richer  fellow-men, 
and  to  infer  an  overruling  Providence  from  their  dis- 
graces, might  well  bless  Heaven  for  the  spectacle  of 
such  degradation,  if  his  thanksgiving  were  not  pre- 
vented by  his  knowledge  that  this  is  quite  voluntary. 
And  now  consider  that  on  every  car  leaving  the  city 
at  this  time  the  scene  is  much  the  same ;  reflect  that 
the  horror  is  enacting,  not  only  in  Boston,  but  in 
New  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  St.  Louis,  Chi- 
cago, Cincinnati,  —  wherever  the  horse-car,  that 
tinkles  well-nigh  round  the  Continent,  is  known ; 
remember  that  the  same  victims  are  thus  daily  sacri- 
ficed, without  an  effort  to  right  themselves :  and 
then  you  will  begin  to  realize  —  dimly  and  imper- 
fectly, of  course  —  the  unfathomable  meekness  of  the 
American  character.  The  "  full "  horse-car  is  a 
prodigy  whose  likeness  is  absolutely  unknown  else- 
where, since  the  Neapolitan  gig  went  out ;  and  I 
suppose  it  will  be  incredible  to  the  future  in  our  own 
country.  When  I  see  such  a  horse-car  as  I  have 
sketched  move  away  from  its  station,  I  feel  that  it  is 
something  not  only  emblematic  and  interpretative, 
but  monumental ;  and  I  know  that  when  art  becomes 
truly  national,  the  overloaded  horse-car  will  be  cele- 
brated in  painting  and  sculpture.  And  in  after  ages, 


114  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

when  the  oblique-eyed,  swarthy  American  of  that 
time,  pausing  before  some  commemorative  bronze  or 
historical  picture  of  our  epoch,  contemplates  this 
stupendous  spectacle  of  human  endurance,  I  hope  he 
will  be  able  to  philosophize  more  satisfactorily  than 
we  can  now,  concerning  the  mystery  of  our  strength 
as  a  nation  and  our  weakness  as  a  public. 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE. 
I.  —  THE   MORNING. 

THEY  were  not  a  large  family,  and  their  pursuits 
and  habits  were  very  simple  ;  yet  the  summer  was 
lapsing  toward  the  first  pathos  of  autumn  before  they 
found  themselves  all  in  such  case  as  to  be  able  to 
take  the  day's  pleasure  they  had  planned  so  long. 
They  had  agreed  often  and  often  that  nothing  could 
be  more  charming  than  an  excursion  down  the  Har- 
bor, either  to  Gloucester,  or  to  Nahant,  or  to  Nan- 
tasket  Beach,  or  to  Hull  and  Hingham,  or  to  any 
point  within  the  fatal  bound  beyond  which  is  seasick- 
ness. They  had  studied  the  steamboat  advertise- 
ments, day  after  day,  for  a  long  time,  without  mak- 
ing up  their  minds  which  of  these  charming  excur- 
sions would  be  the  most  delightful ;  and  when  they 
had  at  last  fixed  upon  one  and  chosen  some  day  for 
it,  that  day  was  sure  to  be  heralded  by  a  long  train 
of  obstacles,  or  it  dawned  upon  weather  that  was 
simply  impossible.  Besides,  in  -the  suburbs,  you  are 
apt  to  sleep  late,  unless  the  solitary  ice-wagon  of  the 
neighborhood  makes  a  very  uncommon  rumbling  in 
going  by  ;  and  I  believe  that  the  excursion  was  sev- 
eral times  postponed  by  the  tardy  return  of  the  pleas- 
urers  from  dreamland,  which,  after  all,  is  not  the 


116  SUBUKBAN  SKETCHES. 

worst  resort,  or  the  least  interesting — or  profitable, 
for  the  matter  of  that.  But  at  last  the  great  day 
came,  —  a  blameless  Thursday  alike  removed  from 
the  cares  of  washing  and  ironing  days,  and  from  the 
fatigues  with  which  every  week  closes.  One  of  the 
family  chose  deliberately  to  stay  at  home  ;  but  the  se- 
verest scrutiny  could  not  detect  a  hindrance  in  the 
health  or  circumstances  of  any  of  the  rest,  and  the 
weather  was  delicious.  Everything,  in  fact,  was  so 
fair  and  so  full  of  promise,  that  they  could  almost  fancy 
a  calamity  of  some  sort  hanging  over  its  perfection, 
and  possibly  bred  of  it ;  for  I  suppose  that  we  never 
have  anything  made  perfectly  easy  for  us  without  a 
certain  reluctance  and  foreboding.  That  morning 
they  all  got  up  so  early  that  they  had  time  to  waste 
over  breakfast  before  taking  the  7.30  train  for  Bos- 
ton ;  and  they  naturally  wasted  so  much  of  it  that 
they  reached  the  station  only  in  season  for  the  8.00. 
But  there  is  a  difference  between  reaching  the  sta- 
tion and  quietly  taking  the  cars,  especially  if  one  of 
your  company  has  been  left  at  home,  hoping  to  cut 
across  and  take  the  cars  at  a  station  which  they  reach 
some  minutes  later,  and  you,  the  head  of  the  party, 
are  obliged,  at  a  loss  of  breath  and  personal  comfort 
and  dignity,  to  run  down  to  that  station  and  see  that 
the  belated  member  has  arrived  there,  and  then 
hurry  back  to  your  own,  and  embody  the  rest,  with 
their  accompanying  hand-bags  and  wraps  and  sun- 
umbrellas,  into  some  compact  shape  for  removal  into 
the  cars,  during  the  very  scant  minute  that  the  train 
stops  at  Charlesbridge.  Then  when  you  are  all 


117 

aboard,  and  the  tardy  member  has  been  duly  taken 
up  at  the  next  station,  and  you  would  be  glad  to 
spend  the  time  in  looking  about  on  the  familiar  vari- 
ety of  life  which  every  car  presents  in  every  train  on 
every  road  in  this  vast  American  world,  you  are  op- 
pressed and  distracted  by  the  cares  which  must  at- 
tend the  pleasure-seeker,  and  which  the  more  thickly 
beset  him  the  more  deeply  he  plunges  into  enjoy- 
ment. 

I  can  learn  very  little  from  the  note-book  of  the 
friend  whose  adventures  I  am  relating  in  regard  to 
the  scenery  of  Somerville,  and  the  region  gener- 
ally through  which  the  railroad  passes  between 
Charlesbridge  and  Boston  ;  but  so  much  knowledge 
of  it  may  be  safely  assumed  on  the  part  of  the  reader 
as  to  relieve  me  of  the  grave  responsibility  of  describ- 
ing it.  Still,  I  may  say  that  it  'is  not  unpicturesque, 
and  that  I  have  a  pleasure,  which  I  hope  the  reader 
shares,  in  anything  like  salt  meadows  and  all  spaces 
subject  to  the  tide,  whether  flooded  by  it  or  left  bare 
with  their  saturated  grasses  by  its  going  down.  I 
think,  also,  there  is  something  fine  in  the  many- 
roofed,  many-chimneyed  highlands  of  Chelsea  (if  it  is 
Chelsea),  as  you  draw  near  the  railroad  bridge,  and 
there  is  a  pretty  stone  church  on  a  hill-side  there 
which  has  the  good  fortune,,  so  rare  with  modern 
architecture  and  so  common  with  the  old,  of  seeming 
a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  spot  where  it  stands,  and 
which  is  as  purely  an  object  of  aBsthetic  interest  to 
me,  who  know  nothing  of  its  sect  or  doctrine,  as  any 
church  in  a  picture  could  be ;  and  there  is,  also,  the 


118  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

Marine  Hospital  on  the  heights  (if  it  is  the  Marine 
Hospital),  from  which  I  hope  the  inmates  can  behold 
the  ocean,  and  exult  in  whatever  misery  keeps  them 
ashore. 

But  let  me  not  so  hasten  over  this  part  of  my 
friend's  journey  as  to  omit  all  mention  of  the  amphib- 
ious Irish  houses  which  stand  about  on  the  low  lands 
along  the  railroad-sides,  and  which  you  half  expect 
to  see  plunge  into  the  tidal  mud  of  the  neighborhood, 
with  a  series  of  hoarse  croaks,  as  the  train  ap- 
proaches. Perhaps  twenty-four  trains  pass  those 
houses  every  twenty-four  hours,  and  it  is  a  wonder 
that  the  inhabitants  keep  their  interest  in  them,  or 
have  leisure  to  bestow  upon  any  of  them.  Yet,  as 
you  dash  along  so  bravely,  you  can  see  that  you  ar- 
rest the  occupations  of  all  these  villagers  as  by  a  kind 
of  enchantment ;  the  children  pause  and  turn  their 
heads  toward  you  from  their  mud-pies  (to  the  produc- 
tion of  which  there  is  literally  no  limit  in  that  re- 
gion) ;  the  matron  rests  one  parboiled  hand  on  her 
hip,  letting  the  other  still  linger  listlessly  upon  the 
wash-board,  while  she  lifts  her  eyes  from  the  suds  to 
look  at  you ;  the  boys,  who  all  summer  long  are  for- 
ever just  going  into  the  water  or  just  coming  out  of 
it,  cease  their  buttoning  or  unbuttoning ;  the  baby, 
which  has  been  run  after  and  caught  and  suitably 
posed,  turns  its  anguished  eyes  upon  you,  where  also 
falls  the  mother's  gaze,  while  her  descending  palm  is 
arrested  in  mid  air.  I  forbear  to  comment  upon  the 
surprising  populousness  of  these  villages,  where,  in 
obedience  to  all  the  laws  of  health,  the  inhabitants 


A  DAY'S  PLEASUEE.  119 

ought  to  be  wasting  miserably  away,  but  where  they 
flourish  in  spite  of  them.  Even  Accident  here  seems 
to  be  robbed  of  half  her  malevolence  ;  and  that  baby 
(who  will  presently  be  chastised  with  terrific  uproar) 
passes  an  infancy  of  intrepid  enjoyment  amidst  the 
local  perils,  and  is  no  more  affected  by  the  engines 
and  the  cars  than  by  so  many  fretful  hens  with  their 
attendant  broods  of  chickens. 

When  sometimes  I  long  for  the  excitement  and 
variety  of  travel,  which,  for  no  merit  of  mine,  I  knew 
in  other  days,  I  reproach  myself,  and  silence  all  my 
repinings  with  some  such  question  as,  Where  could 
you  find  more  variety  or  greater  excitement  than 
abounds  in  and  near  the  Fitchburg  Depot  when  a 
train  arrives  ?  And  to  tell  the  truth,  there  is  some- 
thing very  inspiring  in  the  fine  eagerness  with  which 
all  the  passengers  rise  as  soon  as  the  locomotive  be- 
gins to  slow,  and  huddle  forward  to  the  door,  in  their 
impatience  to  get  out;  while  the  suppressed  vehe- 
mence of  the  hackmen  is  also  thrilling  in  its  way,  not 
to  mention  the  instant  clamor  of  the  baggage-men  as 
they  read  and  repeat  the  numbers  of  the  checks  in 
strident  tones.  It  would  be  ever  so  interesting  to 
depict  all  these  people,  but  it  would  require  volumes 
for  the  work,  and  I  reluctantly  let  them  all  pass  out 
without  a  word,  —  all  but  that  sweet  young  blonde 
who  arrives  by  most  trains,  and  who,  putting  up  her 
eye-glass  with  a  ravishing  air,  bewitchingly  peers 
round  among  the  bearded  faces,  with  little  tender 
looks  of  hope  and  trepidation,  for  the  face  which  she 
wants,  and  which  presently  bursts  through  the  circle 


120  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

of  strange  visages.  The  owner  of  the  face  then  hur- 
ries forward  to  meet  that  sweet  blonde,  who  gives 
him  a  little  drooping  hand  as  if  it  were  a  delicate 
flower  she  laid  in  his ;  there  is  a  brief  mutual  hesita- 
tion long  enough  merely  for  an  electrical  thrill  to 
run  from  heart  to  heart  through  the  clasping  hands, 
and  then  he  stoops  toward  her,  and  distractingly 
kisses  her.  And  I  say  that  there  is  no  law  of  con- 
science or  propriety  worthy  the  name  of  law  —  bar- 
barity, absurdity,  call  it  rither  —  to  prevent  any  one 
from  availing  himself  of  that  providential  near-sight- 
edness, and  beatifying  himself  upon  those  lips, — 
nothing  to  prevent  it  but  that  young  fellow,  whom 
one  might  not,  of  course,  care  to  provoke. 

Among  the  people  who  now  rush  forward  and 
heap  themselves  into  the  two  horse-cars  and  one 
omnibus,  placed  before  the  depot  by  a  wise  fore- 
thought for  the  public  comfort  to  accommodate  the 
train-load  of  two  hundred  passengers,  I  always  note 
a  type  that  is  both  pleasing  and  interesting  to  me. 
It  is  a  lady  just  passing  middle  life  ;  from  her  kindly 
eyes  the  envious  crow,  whose  footprints  are  just 
traceable  at  their  corners,  has  not  yet  drunk  the 
brightness,  but  she  looks  just  a  thought  sadly,  if  very 
serenely,  from  them.  I  know  nothing  in  the  world 
of  her ;  I  may  have  seen  her  twice  or  a  hundred 
times,  but  I  must  always  be  making  bits  of  romances 
about  her.  That  is  she  in  faultless  gray,  with  the 
neat  leather  bag  in  her  lap,  and  a  bouquet  of  the 
first  autumnal  blooms  perched  in  her  shapely  hands, 
which  are  prettily  yet  substantially  gloved  in  some 


A   DAY'S  PLEASURE.  121 

sort  of  gauntlets.  She  can  be  easy  and  dignified, 
my  dear  middle-aged  heroine,  even  in  one  of  our 
horse-cars,  where  people  are  for  the  most  part  packed 
like  cattle  in  a  pen.  She  shows  no  trace  of  dust  or 
fatigue  from  the  thirty  or  forty  miles  which  I  choose 
to  fancy  she  has  ridden  from  the  handsome  elm- 
shaded  New  England  town  of  five  or  ten  thousand 
people,  where  I  choose  to  think  she  lives.  From  a 
vague  horticultural  association  with  those  gauntlets, 
as  well  as  from  the  autumnal  blooms,  I  take  it  she 
loves  flowers,  and  gardens  a  good  deal  with  her  own 
hands,  and  keeps  house-plants  in  the  winter,  and  of 
course  a  canary.  Her  dress,  neither  rich  nor  vulgar, 
makes  me  believe  her  fortunes  modest  and  not  re- 
cent ;  her  gentle  face  has  just  so  much  intellectual 
character  as  it  is  good  to  see  in  a  woman's  face  ;  I 
suspect  that  she  reads  pretty  regularly  the  new 
poems  and  histories,  and  I  know  that  she  is  the  life 
and  soul  of  the  local  book-club.  Is  she  married,  or 
widowed,  or  one  of  the  superfluous  forty  thousand  ? 
That  is  what  I  never  can  tell.  But  I  think  that 
most  probably  she  is  married,  and  that  her  husband 
is  very  much  in  business,  and  does  not  share  so 
much  as  he  respects  her  tastes.  I  have  no  particular 
reason  for  thinking  that  she  has  no  children  now, 
and  that  the  sorrow  for  the  one  she  lost  so  long  ago 
has  become  only  a  pensive  silence,  which,  however, 

a  long  summer  twilight  can  yet  deepen  to  tears 

Upon  my  word !  Am  I  then  one  to  give  way  to 
this  sort  of  thing  ?  Madam,  I  ask  pardon.  I  have 
no  right  to  be  sentimentalizing  you.  Yet  your  face 


122  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

is  one  to  make  people  dream  kind  things  of  you, 
and  I  cannot  keep  my  reveries  away  from  it. 

But  in  the  mean  time  I  neglect  the  momentous 
history  which  I  have  proposed  to  write,  and  leave 
my  day's  pleasurers  to  fade  into  the  background  of  a 
fantastic  portrait.  The  truth  is,  I  cannot  look  with- 
out pain  upon  the  discomforts  which  they  suffer  at 
this  stage  of  their  joyous  enterprise.  At  the  best, 
the  portables  of  such  a  party  are  apt  to  be  grievous 
embarrassments :  a  package  of  shawls  and  parasols 
and  umbrellas  and  India-rubbers,  however  neatly 
made  up  at  first,  quickly  degenerates  into  a  shapeless 
mass,  which  has  finally  to  be  carried  with  as  great 
tenderness  as  an  ailing  child  ;  and  the  lunch  is  pretty 
sure  to  overflow  the  hand-bags  and  to  eddy  about 
you  in  paper  parcels ;  while  the  bottle  of  claret,  that 
bulges  the  side  of  one  of  the  bags,  and 

"  That  will  show  itself  without," 

defying  your  attempts  to  look  as  it  were  cold  tea, 
gives  a  crushing  touch  of  disreputability  to  the  whole 
affair.  Add  to  this  the  fact  that  but  half  the  party 
have  seats,  and  that  the  others  have  to  sway  and 
totter  about  the  car  in  that  sudden  contact  with  all 
varieties  of  fellow-men,  to  which  we  are  accustomed 
in  the  cars,  and  you  must  allow  that  these  poor 
merrymakers  have  reasons  enough  to  rejoice  when 
this  part  of  their  day's  pleasure  is  over.  They  are 
so  plainly  bent  upon  a  sail  down  the  Harbor,  that 
before  they  leave  the  car  they  become  objects  of 
public  interest,  and  are  at  last  made  to  give  some 
account  of  themselves. 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  123 

"  Going  for  a  sail,  I  presume  ?  "  says  a  person 
hitherto  in  conversation  with  the  conductor.  "  Well, 
I  wouldn't  mind  a  sail  myself  to-day." 

"  Yes,"  answers  the  head  of  the  party,  "  going  to 
Gloucester." 

u  Guess  not,"  says,  very  coldly  and  decidedly, 
one  of  the  passengers,  who  is  reading  that  morning's 
"Advertiser  ; "  and  when  the  subject  of  this  surmise 
looks  at  him  for  explanations,  he  adds,  "  The  City 
Council  has  chartered  the  boat  for  to-day." 

Upon  this  the  excursionists  fall  into  great  dismay 
and  bitterness,  and  upbraid  the  City  Council,  and 
wonder  why  last  night's  "  Transcript "  said  nothing 
about  its  oppressive  action,  and  generally  bewail 
their  fate.  But  at  last  they  resolve  to  go  some- 
where, and,  being  set  down,  they  make  up  their 
warring  minds  upon  Nahant,  for  the  Nahant  boat 
leaves  the  wharf  nearest  them ;  and  so  they  hurry 
away  to  India  Wharf,  amidst  barrels  and  bales  and 
boxes  and  hacks  and  trucks,  with  interminable  string- 
teams  passing  before  them  at  every  crossing. 

"  At  any  rate,"  says  the  leader  of  the  expedition, 
"  we  shall  see  the  Gardens  of  Maolis,  —  those  en- 
chanted gardens  which  have  fairly  been  advertised 
into  my  dreams,  and  where  I've  been  told,"  he 
continues,  with  an  effort  to  make  the  prospect  an 
attractive  one,  yet  not  without  a  sense  of  the  meagre- 
ness  of  the  materials,  "  they  have  a  grotto  and  a 
wooden  bull." 

Of  course,  there  is  no  reason  in  nature  why  a 
wooden  bull  should  be  more  pleasing  than  a  flesh- 


124  SUBUEBAN  SKETCHES. 

and-blood  bull,  but  it  seems  to  encourage  tlie  com- 
pany, and  they  set  off  again  with  renewed  speed, 
and  at  last  reach  India  Wharf  in  time  to  see  the 
Nahant  steamer  packed  full  of  excursionists,  with  a 
crowd  of  people  still  waiting  to  go  aboard.  It  does 
not  look  inviting,  and  they  hesitate.  In  a  minute 
or  two  their  spirits  sink  so  low,  that  if  they  should 
see  the  wooden  bull  step  out  of  a  grotto  on  the  deck 
of  the  steamer  the  spectacle  could  not  revive  them. 
At  that  instant  they  think,  with  a  surprising  single- 
ness, of  Nantasket  Beach,  and  the  bright  colors  in 
which  the  Gardens  of  Maolis  but  now  appeared  fade 
away,  and  they  seem  to  see  themselves  sauntering 
along  the  beautiful  shore,  while  the  white-crested 
breakers  crash  upon  the  sand,  and  run  up 

"  In  tender-curving  lines  of  creamy  spray," 

quite  to  the  feet  of  that  lotus-eating  party. 

"Nahant  is  all  rocks,"  says  the  leader  to  Aunt 
Melissa,  who  hears  him  with  a  sweet  and  tranquil 
patience,  and  who  would  enjoy  or  suffer  anything 
with  the  same  expression ;  "  and  as  you've  never 
yet  seen  the  open  sea,  it's  fortunate  that  we  go  to 
Nantasket,  for,  of  course,  a  beach  is  more  character- 
istic. But  now  the  object  is  to  get  there.  The  boat 
will  be  starting  in  a  few  moments,  and  I  doubt 
whether  we  can  walk  it.  How  far  is  it,"  he  asks, 
turning  toward  a  respectable-looking  man,  "  to  Liv- 
erpool Wharf  ?" 

"  Well,  it's  consid'able  ways,"  says  the  man,  smil- 
ing. 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  125 

"  Then  we  must  take  a  hack,"  says  the  pleasurer 
to  his  party.  "  Come  on." 

"  I've  got  a  hack,"  observes  the  man,  in  a  casual 
way,  as  if  the  fact  might  possibly  interest. 

"  O,  you  have,  have  you  ?  Well,  then,  put  us 
into  it,  and  drive  to  Liverpool  Wharf;  and  hurry." 

Either  the  distance  was  less  than  the  hackman 
fancied,  or  else  he  drove  thither  with  unheard-of 
speed,  for  two  minutes  later  he  set  them  down  on 
Liverpool  Wharf.  But  swiftly  as  they  had  come 
the  steamer  had  been  even  more  prompt,  and  she 
now  turned  toward  them  a  beautiful  wake,  as  she 
pushed  farther  and  farther  out  into  the  harbor. 

The  hackman  took  his  two  dollars  for  his  four 
passengers,  and  was  rapidly  mounting  his  box,  — 
probably  to  avoid  idle  reproaches.  "  Wait !  "  said 
the  chief  pleasurer.  Then,  "  When  does  the  next 
boat  leave  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  agent,  who  had 
emerged  with  a  compassionate  face  from  the  waiting- 
rooms  on  the  wharf. 

"At  half  past  two." 

"  And  it's  now  five  minutes  past  nine,"  moaned 
the  merrymakers. 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  can  do,"  said  the 
agent ;  "  you  can  go  to  Hingham  by  the  Old  Colony 
cars,  and  so  come  back  by  the  Hull  and  Hingham 
boat." 

"  That's  it !  "  chorused  his  listeners,  "  we'll  go  ; " 
and  "  Now,"  said  their  spokesman  to  the  driver, 
"  I  dare  say  you  didn't  know  that  Liverpool  Wharf 
was  so  near ;  but  I  don't  think  you've  earned  your 


126  SUBUKBAN  SKETCHES. 

money,  and  you  ought  to  take  us  on  to  the  Old 
Colony  Depot  for  half-fares  at  the  most." 

The  driver  looked  pained,  as  if  some  small  tatters 
and  shreds  of  conscience  were  flapping  uncomfortably 
about  his  otherwise  dismantled  spirit.  Then  he 
seemed  to  think  of  his  wife  and  family,  for  he  put 
on  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  already  made  great 
sacrifices,  and  "  I  couldn't,  really,  I  couldn't  afford 
it,"  said  he ;  and  as  the  victims  turned  from  him  in 
disgust,  he  chirruped  to  his  horses  and  drove  off. 

"  Well,"  said  the  pleasurers,  "  we  won't  give  it 
up.  We  will  have  our  day's  pleasure  after  all. 
But  what  can  we  do  to  kill  five  hours  and  a  half? 
It's  miles  away  from  everything,  and,  besides,  there's 
nothing  even  if  we  were  there."  At  this  image  of 
their  remoteness  and  the  inherent  desolation  of  Bos- 
ton they  could  not  suppress  some  sighs,  and  in  the 
mean  time  Aunt  Melissa  stepped  into  the  waiting- 
room,  which  opened  on  the  farther  side  upon  the 
water,  and  sat  contentedly  down  on  one  of  the 
benches ;  the  rest,  from  sheer  vacuity  and  irresolu- 
tion, followed,  and  thus,  without  debate,  it  was 
settled  that  they  should  wait  there  till  the  boat  left. 
The  agent,  who  was  a  kind  man,  did  what  he  could 
to  alleviate  the  situation :  he  gave  them  each  the 
advertisement  of  his  line  of  boats,  neatly  printed 
upon  a  card,  and  then  he  went  away. 

All  this  prospect  of  waiting  would  do  well  enough 
for  the  ladies  of  the  party,  but  there  is  an  impatience 
in  the  masculine  fibre  which  does  not  brook  the  no- 
tion of  such  prolonged  repose  ;  and  the  leader  of  the 


12T 

excursion  presently  pretended  an  important  errand 
up  town,  —  nothing  less,  in  fact,  than  to  buy  a 
tumbler  out  of  which  to  drink  their  claret  on  the 
beach.  A  holiday  is  never  like  any  other  day  to  the 
man  who  takes  it,  and  a  festive  halo  seemed  to  en- 
wrap the  excursionist  as  he  pushed  on  through  the 
busy  streets  in  the  cool  shadow  of  the  vast  granite 
palaces  wherein  the  genius  of  business  loves  to  house 
itself  in  this  money-making  land,  and  inhaled  the 
odors  of  great  heaps  of  leather  and  spices  and  dry 
goods  as  he  passed  the  open  doorways,  —  odors  that 
mixed  pleasantly  with  the  smell  of  the  freshly 
watered  streets.  When  he  stepped  into  a  crockery 
store  to  make  his  purchase  a  sense  of  pleasure-taking 
did  not  fail  him,  and  he  fell  naturally  into  talk  with 
the  clerk  about  the  weather  and  such  pastoral  topics. 
Even  when  he  reached  the  establishment  where  his 
own  business  days  were  passed  some  glamour  seemed 
to  be  cast  upon  familiar  objects.  To  the  disen- 
chanted eye  all  things  were  as  they  were  on  all 
other  dullish  days  of  summer,  even  to  the  accus- 
tomed bore  leaning  up  against  his  favorite  desk  and 
transfixing  his  habitual  victim  with  his  usual  theme. 
Yet  to  the  gaze  of  this  pleasure-taker  all  was  subtly 
changed,  and  he  shook  hands  right  and  left  as  he 
entered,  to  the  marked  surprise  of  the  objects  of  his 
effusion.  He  had  merely  come  to  get  some  news- 
papers to  help  pass  away  the  long  moments  on  the 
wharf,  and  when  he  had  found  these,  he  hurried 
back  thither  to  hear  what  had  happened  during  his 
absence. 


128  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

It  seemed  that  there  had  hardly  ever  been  such 
an  eventful  period  in  the  lives  of  the  family  before, 
and  he  listened  to  a  minute  account  of  it  from  Cousin 
Lucy.  "  You  know,  Frank,"  says  she,  "  that  Sallie's 
one  idea  in  life  is  to  keep  the  baby  from  getting  the 
whooping-cough,  and  I  declare  that  these  premises 
have  done  nothing  but  reecho  with  the  most  dolo- 
rous whoops  ever  since  you've  been  gone,  so  that  at 
times,  in  my  fear  that  Sallie  would  think  I'd  been 
careless  about  the  boy,  I've  been  ready  to  throw 
myself  into  the  water,  and  nothing  's  prevented  me 
but  the  doubt  whether  it  wouldn't  be  better  to 
throw  in  the  whoopers  instead." 

At  this  moment  a  pale  little  girl,  with  a  face  wan 
and  sad  through  all  its  dirt,  came  and  stood  in  the 
doorway  nearest  the  baby,  and  in  another  instant 
she  had  burst  into  a  whoop  so  terrific  that,  if  she  had 
meant  to  have  his  scalp  next  it  could  not  have  been 
more  dreadful.  Then  she  subsided  into  a  deep  and 
pathetic  quiet,  with  that  air  peculiar  to  the  victims 
of  her  disorder  of  having  done  nothing  noticeable. 
But  her  outburst  had  set  at  work  the  mysterious 
machinery  of  half  a  dozen  other  whooping-coughers 
lurking  about  the  building,  and  all  unseen  they 
wound  themselves  up  with  appalling  rapidity,  and  in 
the  utter  silence  which  followed  left  one  to  think 
they  had  died  at  the  climax. 

"  Why,  it's  a  perfect  whooping-cough  factory, 
this  place,"  cries  Cousin  Lucy  in  a  desperation. 
"  Go  away,  do,  please,  from  the  baby,  you  poor  little 
dreadful  object  you,"  she  continues,  turning  upon 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  129 

the  only  visible  operative  in  the  establishment. 
"  Here,  take  this ;  "  and  she  bribes  her  with  a  bit  of 
sponge-cake,  on  which  the  child  runs  lightly  off  along 
the  edge  of  the  wharf.  "  That's  been  another  of 
their  projects  for  driving  me  wild,"  says  Cousin 
Lucy,  —  "  trying  to  take  their  own  lives  in  a  hun- 
dred ways  before  my  face  and  eyes.  Why  will  their 
mothers  let  them  come  here  to  play?  " 

Really,  they  were  very  melancholy  little  figures, 
and  might  have  gone  near  to  make  one  sad,  even  if 
they  had  not  been  constantly  imperilling  their  lives. 
Thanks  to  its  being  summer-time,  it  did  not  much 
matter  about  the  scantiness  of  their  clothing,  but 
their  squalor  was  depressing,  it  seemed,  even  to 
themselves,  for  they  were  a  mournful-looking  set  of 
children,  and  in  their  dangerous  sports  trifled  silently 
and  almost  gloomily  with  death.  There  were  none 
of  them  above  eight  or  nine  years  of  age,  and  most 
of  them  had  the  care  of  smaller  brothers,  or  even 
babes  in  arms,  whom  they  were  thus  early  inuring 
to  the  perils  of  the  situation.  The  boys  were  dressed 
in  pantaloons  and  shirts  which  no  excess  of  rolling 
up  in  the  legs  and  arms  could  make  small  enough, 
and  the  incorrigible  too-bigness  of  which  rendered 
the  favorite  amusements  still  more  hazardous  from 
their  liability  to  trip  and  entangle  the  wearers.  The 
little  girls  had  on  each  a  solitary  garment,  which 
hung  about  her  gaunt  person  with  antique  severity 
of  outline ;  while  the  babies  were  multitudinously 
swathed  in  whatever  fragments  of  dress  could  be 
tied  or  pinned  or  plastered  on.  Their  faces  were 

9 


130  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

strikingly  and  almost  ingeniously  dirty,  and  their 
distractions  among  the  coal-heaps  and  cord-wood 
constantly  added  to  the  variety  and  advantage  of 
these  effects. 

"  Why  do  their  mothers  let  them  come  here  ?  " 
muses  Frank  aloud.  "  Why,  because  it's  so  safe, 
Cousin  Lucy.  At  home,  you  know,  they'd  have  to 
be  playing  upon  the  sills  of  fourth-floor  windows,  and 
here  they're  out  of  the  way  and  can't  hurt  them- 
selves. Why,  Cousin  Lucy,  this  is  their  park,  — 
their  Public  Garden,  their  Bois  de  Boulogne,  their 
Cascine.  And  look  at  their  gloomy  little  faces ! 
Aren't  they  taking  their  pleasure  in  the  spirit  of  the 
very  highest  fashion  ?  I  was  at  Newport  last  sum- 
mer, and  saw  the  famous  driving  on  the  Avenue  in 
those  pony  phaetons,  dog-carts,  and  tubs,  and  three- 
story  carriages  with  a  pair  of  footmen  perching  like 
storks  upon  each  gable,  and  I  assure  you  that  all 
those  ornate  and  costly  phantasms  (it  seems  to  me 
now  like  a  sad,  sweet  vision)  had  just  the  expression 
of  these  poor  children.  We're  taking  a  day's  pleas- 
ure ourselves,  cousin,  but  nobody  would  know  it  from 
our  looks.  And  has  nothing  but  whooping-cough 
happened  since  I've  been  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  seem  to  be  so  cut  off  from  every-day 
associations  that  I've  imagined  myself  a  sort  of  tour- 
ist, and  I've  been  to  that  Catholic  church  over  yon- 
der, in  hopes  of  seeing  the  Murillos  and  Raphaels ; 
but  I  found  it  locked  up,  and  so  I  trudged  back  with- 
out a  sight  of  the  masterpieces.  But  what's  the  rea- 
son that  all  the  shops  hereabouts  have  nothing  but 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  131 

luxuries  for  sale  ?  The  windows  are  perfect  tropics 
of  oranges,  and  lemons,  and  belated  bananas,  and  to- 
bacco, and  peanuts." 

"  Well,  the  poor  really  seem  to  use  more  of  those 
luxuries  than  anybody  else.  I  don't  blame  them.  I 
shouldn't  care  for  the  necessaries  of  life  myself,  if  I 
found  them  so  hard  to  get." 

"When  I  came  back  here,"  says  Cousin  Lucy, 
without  heeding  these  flippant  and  heartless  words, 
"  I  found  an  old  gentleman  who  has  something  to  do 
with  the  boats,  and  he  sat  down,  as  if  it  were  a  part 
of  his  business,  and  told  me  nearly  the  whole  history 
of  his  life.  Isn't  it  nice  of  them,  keeping  an  Autobi- 
ographer  ?  It  makes  the  time  pass  so  swiftly  when 
you're  waiting.  This  old  gentleman  was  born  — 
who'd  ever  think  it?  —  up  there  in  Pearl  Street, 
where  those  pitiless  big  granite  stores  are  now ;  and, 
I  don't  know  why,  but  the  idea  of  any  human  baby 
being  born  in  Pearl  Street  seemed  to  me  one  of  the 
saddest  things  I'd  ever  heard  of." 

Here  Cousin  Lucy  went  to  the  rescue  of  the  nurse 
and  the  baby,  who  had  got  into  one  of  their  period- 
ical difficulties,  and  her  interlocutor  turned  to  Aunt 
Melissa. 

"  I  think,  Franklin,"  says  Aunt  Melissa,  "  that  it 
was  wrong  to  let  that  nurse  come  and  bring  the 
baby." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Aunty,  you  have  those  old-estab- 
lished ideas,  and  they're  very  right,"  answers  her 
nephew ;  "  but  just  consider  how  much  she  enjoys 
it,  and  how  vastly  the  baby  adds  to  the  pleasure  of 
this  charming  excursion  !  " 


132  SUBUKBAN  SKETCHES. 

Aunt  Melissa  made  no  reply,  but  sat  looking 
thoughtfully  out  upon  the  bay.  "  I  presume  you 
think  the  excursion  is  a  failure,"  she  said,  after  a 
while  ;  "  but  I've  been  enjoying  every  minute  of  the 
time  here.  Of  course,  I've  never  seen  the  open  sea, 
and  I  don't  know  about  it,  but  I  feel  here  just  as  if 
I  were  spending  a  day  at  the  seaside." 

"Well,"  said  her  nephew,  "I  shouldn't  call  this 
exactly  a  watering-place.  It  lacks  the  splendor  and 
gayety  of  Newport,  in  a  certain  degree,  and  it  hasn't 
the  illustrious  seclusion  of  Nahant.  The  surf  isn't 
very  fine,  nor  the  beach  particularly  adapted  to  bath- 
ing ;  and  yet,  I  must  confess,  the  outlook  from  here 
is  as  lovely  as  anything  one  need  have." 

And  to  tell  the  truth,  it  was  very  pretty  and  in- 
teresting. The  landward  environment  was  as  com- 
monplace and  mean  as  it  could  be  :  a  yardful  of  dis- 
mal sheds  for  coal  and  lumber,  and  shanties  for 
offices,  with  each  office  its  safe  and  its  desk,  its 
whittled  arm-chair  and  its  spittoon,  its  fly  that  shooed 
not,  but  buzzed  desperately  against  the  grimy  pane, 
which,  if  it  had  really  had  that  boasted  microscopic 
eye,  it  never  would  have  mistaken  for  the  unblem- 
ished daylight.  Outside  of  this  yard  was  the  usual 
wharfish  neighborhood,  with  its  turmoil  of  trucks  and 
carts  and  fleet  express- wagons,  its  building  up  and 
pulling  down,  its  discomfort  and  clamor  of  every  sort, 
and  its  shops  for  the  sale,  not  only  of  those  luxuries 
which  Lucy  had  mentioned,  but  of  such  domestic  re- 
freshments as  lemon-pie  and  hulled-corn. 

When,  however,  you   turned  your  thoughts  and 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  133 

eyes  away  from  this  aspect  of  it,  and  looked  out  upon 
the  water,  the  neighborhood  gloriously  retrieved  it- 
self. There  its  poverty  and  vulgarity  ceased ;  there 
its  beauty  and  grace  abounded.  A  light  breeze  ruf- 
fled the  face  of  the  bay,  and  the  innumerable  little 
sail-boats  that  dotted  it  took  the  sun  and  wind  upon 
their  wings,  which  they  dipped  almost  into  the  spar- 
kle of  the  water,  and  flew  lightly  hither  and  thither 
like  gulls  that  loved  the  brine  too  well  to  rise  wholly 
from  it ;  larger  ships,  farther  or  nearer,  puffed  or 
shrank  their  sails  as  they  came  and  went  on  the  er- 
rands of  commerce,  but  always  moved  as  if  bent 
upon  some  dreamy  affair  of  pleasure  ;  the  steam- 
boats that  shot  vehemently  across  their  tranquil 
courses  seemed  only  gayer  and  vivider  visions,  but 
not  more  substantial ;  yonder,  a  black  sea-going 
steamer  passed  out  between  the  far-off  islands,  and 
at  last  left  in  the  sky  above  those  reveries  of  fortifica- 
tion, a  whiff  of  sombre  smoke,  dark  and  unreal  as  a 
memory  of  battle  ;  to  the  right,  on  some  line  of  rail- 
road, long-plumed  trains  arrived  and  departed  like 
pictures  passed  through  the  slide  of  a  magic-lantern ; 
even  a  pile-driver,  at  work  in  the  same  direction, 
seemed  to  have  no  malice  in  the  blows  which,  after 
a  loud  clucking,  it  dealt  the  pile,  and  one  understood 
that  it  was  mere  conventional  violence  like  that  of 
a  Punch  to  his  baby. 

"  Why,  what  a  lotus-eating  life  this  is !  "  said 
Frank,  at  last.  "  Aunt  Melissa,  I  don't  wonder 
you  think  it's  like  the  seaside.  It's  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter than  the  seaside.  And  now,  just  as  we've  en- 


134  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

tered  into  the  spirit  of  it,  the  time's  up  for  the  '  Rose 
Standish'  to  come  and  bear  us  from  its  delights. 
When  will  the  boat  be  in?  "  he  asked  of  the  Auto- 
biographer,  whom  Lucy  had  pointed  out  to  him. 

"  Well,  she's  ben  in  half  an  hour,  now.  There  she 
lays,  just  outside  the  '  John  Eomer.' ' 

There,  to  be  sure,  she  lay,  and  those  pleasure- 
takers  had  been  so  lost  in  the  rapture  of  waiting  and 
the  beauty  of  the  scene  as  never  to  have  noticed  her 
arrival. 


II.  —  THE  AFTERNOON. 

IT  is  noticeable  how  many  people  there  are  in  the 
world  that  seem  bent  always  upon  the  same  purpose 
of  amusement  or  business  as  one's  self.  If  you  keep 
quietly  about  your  accustomed  affairs,  there  are  all 
your  neighbors  and  acquaintance  hard  at  it  too ;  if 
you  go  on  a  journey,  choose  what  train  you  will,  the 
cars  are  filled  with  travellers  in  your  direction.  You 
take  a  day's  pleasure,  and  everybody  abandons  his 
usual  occupation  to  crowd  upon  your  boat,  whether 
it  is  to  Gloucester,  or  Nahant,  or  to  Nantasket  Beach 
you  go.  It  is  very  hard  to  believe  that,  from  what- 
ever channel  of  life  you  abstract  yourself,  still  the 
great  sum  of  it  presses  forward  as  before  :  that  busi- 
ness is  carried  on  though  you  are  idle,  that  men 
amuse  themselves  though  you  toil,  that  every  train 
is  as  crowded  as  that  you  travel  on,  that  the  theatre 
or  the  church  fills  its  boxes  or  pews  without  you  per- 
fectly well.  I  suppose  it  would  not  be  quite  agree- 
able to  believe  all  this ;  the  opposite  illusion  is  far 
more  flattering ;  for  if  each  one  of  us  did  not  take 
the  world  with  him  now  at  every  turn,  should  he  not 
have  to  leave  it  behind  him  when  he  died  ?  And 
that,  it  must  be  owned,  would  not  be  agreeable,  nor 
is  the  fact  quite  conceivable,  though  ever  so  many 
myriads  in  so  many  million  v^ars  h»vp,  proved  it. 


136  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

When  our  friends  first  went  aboard  the  "Rose 
Standish"that  day  they  were  almost  the  sole  passen- 
gers, and  they  had  a  feeling  of  ownership  and  privacy 
which  was  pleasant  enough  in  its  way,  but  which 
they  lost  afterwards ;  though  to  lose  it  was  also  pleas- 
ant, for  enjoyment  no  more  likes  to  be  solitary  than 
sin  does,  which  is  notoriously  gregarious,  and  I  dare 
say  would  hardly  exist  if  it  could  not  be  committed 
in  company.  The  preacher,  indeed,  little  knows  the 
comfortable  sensation  we  have  in  being  called  fellow- 
sinners,  and  what  an  effective  shield  for  his  guilt 
each  makes  of  his  neighbor's  hard-heartedness. 

Cousin  Frank  never  felt  how  strange  was  a  lonely 
transgression  till  that  day,  when  in  the  silence  of  the 
little  cabin  he  took  the  bottle  of  claret  from  the  hand- 
bag, and  prepared  to  moisten  the  family  lunch  with  it. 
"I  think,  Aunt  Melissa,"  he  said,  "we  had  better 
lunch  now,  for  it's  a  quarter  past  two,  and  we  shall 
not  get  to  the  beach  before  four.  Let's  improvise  a 
beach  of  these  chairs,  and  that  water-urn  yonder  can 
stand  for  the  breakers.  Now,  this  is  truly  like  New- 
port and  Nahant,"  he  added,  after  the  little  arrange- 
ment was  complete ;  and  he  was  about  to  strip  away 
the  bottle's  jacket  of  brown  paper,  when  a  lady  much 
wrapped  up  came  in,  and,  reclining  upon  one  of  the 
opposite  seats,  began  to  take  them  all  in  with  a  severe 
serenity  of  gaze  that  made  them  feel  for  a  moment 
like  a  party  of  low  foreigners,  —  like  a  set  of  German 
atheists,  say.  Frank  kept  on  the  bottle's  paper  jacket, 
and  as  the  single  tumbler  of  the  party  circled  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  each  of  them  tried  to  give  the 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  137 

honest  drink  the  false  air  of  a  medicinal  potion  of 
some  sort ;  and  to  see  Aunt  Melissa  sipping  it,  no 
one  could  have  put  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  sworn 
it  was  not  elderberry  wine,  at  the  worst.  In  spite 
of  these  efforts,  they  all  knew  that  they  had  suffered 
a  hopeless  loss  of  repute  ;  yet  after  the  loss  was 
confessed,  I  am  not  sure  that  they  were  not  the  gayer 
and  happier  through  this  "  freedom  o'f  a  broken  law." 
At  any  rate,  the  lunch  passed  off  very  merrily,  and 
when  they  had  put  back  the  fragments  of  the  feast 
into  the  bags,  they  went  forward  to  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  to  get  good  places  for  seeing  the  various  people 
as  they  came  aboard,  and  for  an  outlook  upon  the 
bay  when  the  boat  should  start. 

I  suppose  that  these  were  not  very  remarkable 
people,  and  that  nothing  but  the  indomitable  interest 
our  friends  took  in  the  human  race  could  have 
enabled  them  to  feel  any  concern  in  their  com- 
panions. It  was,  no  doubt,  just  such  a  company  as 
goes  down  to  Nantasket  Beach  every  pleasant  day  in 
summer.  Certain  ones  among  them  were  distin- 
guishable as  sojourners  at  the  beach,  by  an  air  of 
familiarity  with  the  business  of  getting  there,  an 
indifference  to  the  prospect,  and  an  indefinable  touch 
of  superiority.  These  read  their  newspapers  in 
quiet  corners,  or,  if  they  were. not  of  the  newspaper 
sex,  made  themselves  comfortable  in  the  cabins,  and 
looked  about  them  at  the  other  passengers  with 
looks  of  lazy  surprise,  and  just  a  hint  of  scorn  for 
their  interest  in  the  boat's  departure.  Our  day's 
pleasurers  took  it  that  the  lady  whose  steady  gaze 


138  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

had  reduced  them,  when  at  lunch,  to  such  a  low  ebb 
of  shabbiness,  was  a  regular  boarder,  at  the  least,  in 
one  of  the  beach  hotels.  A  few  other  passengers 
were,  like  themselves,  mere  idlers  for  a  day,  and 
were  eager  to  see  all  that  the  boat  or  the  voyage 
offered  of  novelty.  There  were  clerks  and  men  who 
had  book-keeping  written  in  a  neat  mercantile  hand 
upon  their  faces,  and  who  had  evidently  been  given 
that  afternoon  for  a  breathing-time  ;  and  there  were 
strangers  who  were  going  down  to  the  beach  for  the 
sake  of  the  charming  view  of  the  harbor  which  the 
trip  afforded.  Here  and  there  were  people  who 
were  not  to  be  classed  with  any  certainty,  — as  a  pale 
young  man,  handsome  in  his  undesirable  way,  who 
looked  like  a  steamboat  pantry  boy  not  yet  risen  to 
be  bar-tender,  but  rapidly  rising,  and  who  sat  care- 
fully balanced  upon  the  railing  of  the  boat,  chatting 
with  two  young  girls,  who  heard  his  broad  sallies  with 
continual  snickers,  and  interchanged  saucy  comments 
with  that  prompt  up-and-coming  manner  which  is  so 
large  a  part  of  non-humorous  humor,  as  Mr.  Lowell 
calls  it,  and  now  and  then  pulled  and  pushed  each 
other.  It  was  a  scene  worth  study,  for  in  no  other 
country  could  anything  so  bad  have  been  without 
being  vastly  worse  ;  but  here  it  was  evident  that 
there  was  nothing  worse  than  you  saw  ;  and,  indeed, 
these  persons  formed  a  sort  of  relief  to  the  other 
passengers,  who  were  nearly  all  monotonously  well- 
behaved.  Amongst  a  few  there  seemed  to  be 

O 

acquaintance,  but  the  far  greater  part  were  unknown 
to  one  another,  and  there  were  no  words  wasted  by 


A  DAY'S  PLEASUEE.  139 

any  one.  I  believe  the  English  traveller  who  has 
taxed  our  nation  with  inquisitiveness  for  half  a  cen- 
tury is  at  last  beginning  to  find  out  that  we  do  not 
ask  questions  because  we  have  the  still  more  vicious 
custom  of  not  opening  our  mouths  at  all  when  with 
strangers. 

It  was  a  good  hour  after  our  friends  got  aboard 
before  the  boat  left  her  moorings,  and  then  it  was 
not  without  some  secret  dreads  of  sea-sickness  that 
Aunt  Melissa  saw  the  seething  brine  widen  between 
her  and  the  familiar  wharf-house,  where  she  now 
seemed  to  have  spent  so  large  a  part  of  her  life. 
But  the  multitude  of  really  charming  and  interesting 
objects  that  presently  fell  under  her  eye  soon  dis- 
tracted her  from  those  gloomy  thoughts. 

There  is  always  a  shabbiness  about  the  wharves 
of  seaports  ;  but  I  must  own  that  as  soon  as  you  get 
a  reasonable  distance  from  them  in  Boston,  they  turn 
wholly  beautiful.  They  no  longer  present  that  impos- 
ing array  of  mighty  ships  which  they  could  show  in 
the  days  of  Consul  Plancus,  when  the  commerce  of 
the  world  sought  chiefly  our  port,  yet  the  docks  are 
still  filled  with  the  modester  kinds  of  shipping,  and  if 
there  is  not  that  wilderness  of  spars  and  rigging  which 
you  see  at  New  York,  let  us  believe  that  there  is  an 
aspect  of  selection  and  refinement  in  the  scene,  so 
that  one  should  describe  it,  not  as  a  forest,  but,  less 
conventionally,  as  a  gentleman's  park  of  masts.  The 
steamships  of  many  coastwise  freight  lines  gloom, 
with  their  black,  capacious  hulks,  among  the  lighter 
sailing-craft,  and  among  the  white,  green-shuttered 


140  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

passenger-boats ;  and  behind  them  those  desperate 
and  grimy  sheds  assume  a  picturesqueness,  their  sag- 
ging roofs  and  crooked  gables  harmonizing  agreeably 
with  the  shipping ;  and  then  growing  up  from  all 
rises  the  mellow-tinted  brick-built  city,  roof,  and 
spire,  and  dome,  —  a  fair  and  noble  sight,  indeed, 
and  one  not  surpassed  for  a  certain  quiet  and  cleanly 
beauty  by  any  that  I  know. 

Our  friends  lingered  long  upon  this  pretty  pros- 
pect, and,  as  inland  people  of  light  heart  and  easy 
fancy  will,  the  ladies  made  imagined  voyages  in  each 
of  the  more  notable  vessels  they  passed,  —  all  cheap 
and  safe  trips,  occupying  half  a  second  apiece.  Then 
they  came  forward  to  the  bow,  that  they  might  not 
lose  any  part  of  the  harbor's  beauty  and  variety,  and 
informed  themselves  of  the  names  of  each  of  the 
fortressed  islands  as  they  passed,  and  forgot  them, 
being  passed,  so  that  to  this  day  Aunt  Melissa  has 
the  Fort  Warren  rebel  prisoners  languishing  in  Fort 
Independence.  But  they  made  sure  of  the  air  of 
soft  repose  that  hung  about  each,  of  that  exquisite 
military  neatness  which  distinguishes  them,  and  which 
went  to  Aunt  Melissa's  housekeeping  heart,  of  the 
green,  thick  turf  covering  the  escarpments,  of  the 
great  guns  loafing  on  the  crests  of  the  ramparts  and 
looking  out  over  the  water  sleepily,  of  the  sentries 
pacing  slowly  up  and  down  with  their  gleaming 
muskets. 

"  I  never  see  one  of  those  fellows,"  says  Cousin 
Frank,  "without  setting  him  to  the  music  of  that 
saddest  and  subtlest  of  Heine's  poems.  You  know 
it,  Lucy  ;  "  and  he  repeats :  — 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  141 

"  Mein  Herz,  mein  Herz  is  traurig, 
Doch  lustig  leuchtet  der  Mai  ; 
Ich  stehe  gelehnt  an  der  Linde, 
Hoch  auf  der  alten  Bastei. 

"  Am  alten  grauen  Thurme 

Ein  Schilderhauschen  steht  ; 
Ein  rothgerockter  Bursche 
Dort  auf  und  nieder  geht. 

"  Er  spielt  rait  seiner  Flinte, 

Sie  funkelt  im  Sonnenroth, 
Er  prasentirt,  und  schultert,  — 
Ich  wollt',  er  schosse  mich  todt." 

"  O !  "  says  Cousin  Lucy,  either  because  the 
poignant  melancholy  of  the  sentiment  has  suddenly 
pierced  her,  or  because  she  does  not  quite  under- 
stand the  German,  —  you  never  can  tell  about 
women.  While  Frank  smiles  down .  upon  her  in 
this  amiable  doubt,  their  party  is  approached  by  the 
tipsy  man  who  has  been  making  the  excursion  so 
merry  for  the  other  passengers,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  there  is  very  much  to  make  one  sad  in  him. 
He  is  an  old  man,  sweltering  in  rusty  black,  a  two 
days'  gray  beard,  and  a  narrow-brimmed,  livid  silk 
hat,  set  well  back  upon  the  nape  of  his  neck.  He 
explains  to  our  friends,  as  he  does  to  every  one 
whose  acquaintance  he  makes,  that  he  was  in  former 
days  a  seafaring  man,  and  that  he  has  brought  his 
two  little  grandsons  here  to  show  them  something 
about  a  ship ;  and  the  poor  old  soul  helplessly  satur- 
ates his  phrase  with  the  rankest  profanity.  The 
boys  are  somewhat  amused  by  their  grandsire's  state, 
being  no  doubt  familiar  with  it ;  but  a  very  grim- 


142  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

looking  old  lady  who  sits  against  the  pilot-house,  and 
keeps  a  sharp  eye  upon  all  three,  and  who  is  also 
doubtless  familiar  with  the  unhappy  spectacle,  seems 
not  to  find  it  a  joke.  Her  stout  matronly  umbrella 
trembles  in  her  hand  when  her  husband  draws  near, 
and  her  eye  flashes ;  but  he  gives  her  as  wide  a 
berth  as  he  can,  returning  her  glare  with  a  propi- 
tiatory drunken  smile  and  a  wink  to  the  passengers  to 
let  them  into  the  fun.  In  fact,  he  is  full  of  humor 
in  his  tipsy  way,  and  one  after  another  falls  the  prey 
of  his  free  sarcasm,  which  does  not  spare  the  boat  or 
any  feature  of  the  excursion.  He  holds  for  a  long 
time,  by  swiftly  successive  stories  of  his  seafaring 
days,  a  very  quiet  gentleman,'  who  dares  neither 
laugh  too  loudly  nor  show  indifference  for  fear  of 
rousing  that  terrible  wit  at  his  expense,  and  finds  his 
account  in  looking  down  at  his  boots. 

"  Well,  sir,"  says  tjie  deplorable  old  sinner,  "  we 
was  forty  days  out  from  Liverpool,  with  a  cargo  of 
salt  and  iron,  and  we  got  caught  on  the  Banks  in  a 
calm.  '  Cap'n,'  says  I,  —  I  'us  sec'n'  mate,  —  '  's 
they  any  man  aboard  this  ship  knows  how  to  pray  ?  ' 
4  No,'  says  the  cap'n  ;  '  blast  yer  prayers  !  '  '  Well,' 
says  I,  '  cap'n,  I'm  no  hand  at  all  to  pray,  but  I'm 
goin'  to  see  if  pray  in'  won't  git  us  out  'n  this.'  And 
I  down  on  my  knees,  and  I  made  a  first-class  prayer ; 
and  a  breeze  sprung  up  in  a  minute  and  carried  us 
smack  into  Boston." 

At  this  bit  of  truculent  burlesque  the  quiet  man 
made  a  bold  push,  and  walked  away  with  a  some- 
what sickened  face,  and  as  no  one  now  intervened 


143 

between  them,  the  inebriate  laid  a  familiar  hand 
upon  Cousin  Frank's  collar,  and  said  with  a  wink  at 
his  late  listener :  "  Looks  like  a  lerigious  man,  don't 
he  ?  I  guess  I  give  him  a  good  dose,  if  he  does 
think  himself  the  head-deacon  of  this  boat."  And 
he  went  on  to  state  his  ideas  of  religion,  from  which 
it  seemed  that  he  was  a  person  of  the  most  advanced 
thinking,  and  believed  in  nothing  worth  mentioning. 

It  is  perhaps  no  worse  for  an  Infidel  to  be  drunk 
than  a  Christian,  but  my  friend  found  this  tipsy  blas- 
phemer's case  so  revolting,  that  he  went  to  the 
hand-bag,  took  out  the  empty  claret-bottle,  and  seek- 
ing a  solitary  corner  of  the  boat,  cast  the  bottle  into 
the  water,  and  felt  a  thrill  of  uncommon  self-approval 
as  this  scapegoat  of  all  the  wine  at  his  grocer's 
bobbed  off  upon  the  little  waves.  "  Besides,  it  saves 
carrying  the  bottle  home,"  he  thought,  not  without 
a  half-conscious  reserve,  that  if  his  penitence  were 
ever  too  much  for  him,  he  could  easily  abandon  it. 
And  without  the  reflection  that  the  gate  is  always 
open  behind  him,  who  could  consent  to  enter  upon 
any  course  of  perfect  behavior  ?  If  good  resolutions 
could  not  be  broken,  who  would  ever  have  the  cour- 
age to  form  them  ?  Would  it  not  be  intolerable  to 
be  made  as  good  as  we  ought  to  be  ?  Then,  admir- 
able reader,  thank  Heaven,  even  for  your  lapses, 
since  it  is  so  wholesome  and  saving  to  be  well 
ashamed  of  yourself,  from  time  to  time. 

"  What  an  outrage,"  said  Cousin  Frank,  in  the 
glow  of  virtue,  as  he  rejoined  the  ladies,  "  that  that 
tipsy  rascal  should  be  allowed  to  go  on  with  his 


144  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

ribaldry.  He  seems  to  pervade  the  whole  boat,  and 
to  subject  everybody  to  his  sway.  He's  a  perfect 
despot  to  us  helpless  sober  people,  —  I  wouldn't 
openly  disagree  with  him  on  any  account.  We 
ought  to  send  a  Round  Robin  to  the  captain,  and 
ask  him  to  put  that  religious  liberal  in  irons  during 
the  rest  of  the  voyage." 

In  the  mean  time,  however,  the  object  of  his 
indignation  had  used  up  all  the  conversible  material 
in  that  part  of  the  boat,  and  had  deviously  started 
for  the  other  end.  The  elderly  woman  with -the 
umbrella  rose  and  followed  him,  somewhat  wearily, 
and  with  a  sadness  that  appeared  more  in  her  move- 
ment than  in  her  face  ;  and  as  the  two  went  down 
the  cabin,  did  the  comical  affair  look,  after  all,  some- 
thing like  tragedy  ?  My  reader,  who  expects  a  little 
novelty  in  tragedy,  and  not  these  stale  and  common 
effects,  will  never  think  so. 

"  You'll  not  pretend,  Frank,"  says  Lucy,  "  that 
in  such  an  intellectual  place  as  Boston  a  crowd  as 
large  as  this  can  be  got  together,  and  no  distin- 
guished literary  people  in  it.  I  know  there  are  some 
notables  aboard :  do  point  them  out  to  me.  Pretty 
near  everybody  has  a  literary  look." 

"  Why,  that's  what  we  call  our  Boston  look, 
Cousin  Lucy.  You  needn't  have  written  anything 
to  have  it,  —  it's  as  general  as  tubercular  consump- 
tion, and  is  the  effect  of  our  universal  culture  and 
habits  of  reading.  I  heard  a  New-Yorker  say  once 
that  if  you  went  into  a  corner  grocery  in  Boston  to 
buy  a  codfish,  the  man  would  ask  you  how  you 


145 

liked  i  Lucille,'  whilst  he  was  tying  it  up.  No,  no  ; 
you  mustn't  be  taken  in  by  that  literary  look ;  I'm 
afraid  the  real  literary  men  don't  always  have  it. 
But  I  do  see  a  literary  man  aboard  yonder,"  he 
added,  craning  his  neck  to  one  side,  and  then  fur- 
tively pointing,  —  "  the  most  literary  man  I  ever 
knew,  one  of  the  most  literary  men  that  ever  lived. 
His  whole  existence  is  really  bound  up  in  books ;  he 
never  talks  of  anything  else,  and  never  thinks  of 
anything  else,  I  believe.  Look  at  him,  —  what  kind 
and  pleasant  eyes  he's  got !  There,  he  sees  me  !  " 
cries  Cousin  Frank,  with  a  pleasurable  excitement. 
"  How  d'ye  do  ?  "  he  calls  out. 

"  O  Cousin  Frank,  introduce  us,"  sighs  Lucy. 

"  Not  I !  He  wouldn't  thank  me.  He  doesn't 
care  for  pretty  girls  outside  of  books ;  he'd  be  afraid 
of  'em ;  he's  the  bashfullest  man  alive,  and  all  his 
heroines  are  fifty  years  old,  at  the  least.  But  before 
I  go  any  farther,  tell  me  solemnly,  Lucy,  you're  not 
interviewing  me  ?  You're  not  going  to  write  it  to 
a  New  York  newspaper  ?  No  ?  Well,  I  think  it's 
best  to  ask,  always.  Our  friend  there  — he's  every- 
body's friend,  if  you  mean  nobody's  enemy,  by  that, 
not  even  his  own  —  is  really  what  I  say,  —  the  most 
literary  man  I  ever  knew.  He  loves  all  epochs  and 
phases  of  literature,  but  his  passion  is  the  Charles 
Lamb  period  and  all  Lamb's  friends.  He  loves 
them  as  if  they  were  living  men  ;  and  Lamb  would 
have  loved  him  if  he  could  have  known  him.  He 
speaks  rapidly,  and  rather  indistinctly,  and  when 
you  meet  him  and  say  Good  day,  and  you  suppose  he 

10 


146  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

answers  with  something  about  the  weather,  ten  to 
one  he  's  asking  you  what  you  think  of  Hazlitt's 
essays  on  Shakespeare,  or  Leigh  Hunt's  Italian  Po- 
ets, or  Lamb's  roast  pig,  or  Barry  Cornwall's  songs. 
He  couldn't  get  by  a  bookstall  without  stopping  — 
for  half  an  hour,  at  any  rate.  He  knows  just  when 
all  the  new  books  in  town  are  to  be  published,  and 
when  each  bookseller  is  to  get  his  invoice  of  old 
English  books.  He  has  no  particular  address,  but 
if  you  leave  your  card  for  him  at  any  bookstore  in 
Boston,  he  's  sure  to  get  it  within  two  days ;  and  in 
the  summer-time  you're  apt  to  meet  him  on  these 
excursions.  Of  course,  he  writes  about  books,  and 
very  tastefully  and  modestly  ;  there's  hardly  any  of 
the  brand-new  immortal  English  poets,  who  die  off 
so  rapidly,  but  has  had  a  good  word  from  him  ;  but 
his  heart  is  with  the  older  fellows,  from  Chaucer 
down ;  and,  after  the  Charles  Lamb  epoch,  I  don't 
know  whether  he  loves  better  the  Elizabethan  age 

O 

or  that  of  Queen  Anne.  Think  of  him  making  me 
stop  the  other  day  at  a  bookstall,  and  read  through 
an  essay  out  of  the  "  Spectator !  "  I  did  it  all  for 
love  of  him,  though  money  couldn't  have  persuaded 
me  that  I  had  time ;  and  I'm  always  telling  him  lies, 
and  pretending  to  be  as  well  acquainted  as  he  is  with 
authors  I  hardly  know  by  name, — he  seems  so 
fondly  to  expect  it.  He's  really  almost  a  disem- 
bodied spirit  as  concerns  most  mundane  interests; 
his  soul  is  in  literature,  as  a  lover's  in  his  mistress's 
beauty ;  and  in  the  next  world,  where,  as  the  Swe- 
denborgians  believe,  spirits  seen  at  a  distance  appear 


147 

like  the  things  they  most  resemble  in  disposition,  as 
doves,  hawks,  goats,  lambs,  swine,  and  so  on,  I'm 
sure  that  I  shall  see  his  true  and  kindly  soul  in  the 
guise  of  a  noble  old  Folio,  quaintly  lettered  across 
his  back  in  old  English  text,  Tom.  J." 

While  our  friends  talked  and  looked  about  them, 
a  sudden  change  had  come  over  the  brightness  and 
warmth  of  the  day ;  the  blue  heaven  had  turned  a 
chilly  gray,  and  the  water  looked  harsh  and  cold. 
Now,  too,  they  noted  that  they  were  drawing  near  a 
wooden  pier  built  into  the  water,  and  that  they  had 
been  winding  about  in  a  crooked  channel  between 
muddy  shallows,  and  that  their  course  was  overrun 
with  long,  disheveled  sea-weed.  The  shawls  had 
been  unstrapped,  and  the  ladies  made  comfortable  in 
them. 

"  Ho  for  the  beach  !  "  cried  Cousin  Frank,  with  a 
vehement  show  of  enthusiasm.  "  Now,  then,  Aunt 
Melissa,  prepare  for  the  great  enjoyment  of  the  day. 
In  a  few  moments  we  shall  be  of  the  elves 

'  That  on  the  sand  with  printless  foot 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him 
When  he  conies  back.' 

Come !  we  shall  have  three  hours  on  the  beach,  and 
that  will  bring  us  well  into  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
and  we  can  return  by  the  last  boat." 

"As  to  the  cool  of  the  evening,"  said  Aunt 
Melissa,  "  I  don't  know.  It's  quite  cool  enough  for 
comfort  at  present,  and  I'm  sure  that  anything  more 
wouldn't  be  wholesome.  What's  become  of  our 
beautiful  weather  ?  "  she  asked,  deeply  plotting  to 
gain  time. 


148  SUBURBAN    SKETCHES. 

"  It 's  one  of  our  Boston  peculiarities,  not  to  say 
merits,"  answered  Frank,  "  which  you  must  have 
noticed  already,  that  we  can  get  rid  of  a  fine  day 
sooner  than  any  other  region.  While  you're  saying 
how  lovely  it  is,  a  subtle  change  is  wrought,  and 
under  skies  still  blue  and  a  sun  still  warm  the  keen 
spirit  of  the  east  wind  pierces  every  nerve,  and  all 
the  fine  weather  within  you  is  chilled  and  extin- 
guished. The  gray  atmosphere  follows,  but  the  clay 
first  languishes  in  yourself.  But  for  this,  life  in 
Boston  would  be  insupportably  perfect,  if  this  is 
indeed  a  drawback.  You'd  find  Bostonians  to  de- 
fend it,  I  dare  say.  But  this  isn't  a  regular  east 
wind  to-day  ;  it's  merely  our  nearness  to  the  sea." 

"  I  think,  Franklin,"  said  Aunt  Melissa,  "  that  we 
won't  go  down  to  the  beach  this  afternoon,"  as  if 
she  had  been  there  yesterday,  and  would  go  to-mor- 
row. "  It 's  too  late  in  the  day ;  and  it  wouldn't  be 
good  for  the  child,  I'm  sure." 

"  Well,  aunty,  it  was  you  determined  us  to  wait 
for  the  boat,  and  it 's  your  right  to  say  whether  we 
shall  leave  it  or  not.  I'm  very  willing  not  to  go 
ashore.  I  always  find  that,  after  working  up  to  an 
object  with  great  effort,  it 's  surpassingly  sweet  to 
leave  it  unaccomplished  at  last.  Then  it  remains 
forever  in  the  region  of  the  ideal,  amongst  the  songs 
that  never  were  sung,  the  pictures  that  never  were 
painted.  Why,  in  fact,  should  we  force  this  pleas- 
ure ?  We've  eaten  our  lunch,  we've  lost  the  warm 
heart  of  the  day ;  why  should  we  poorly  drag  over 
to  that  damp  and  sullen  beach,  where  we  should  find 


149 

three  hours  very  long,  when  by  going  back  now  we 
can  keep  intact  that  glorious  image  of  a  day  by  the 
sea  which  we've  been  cherishing  all  summer  ?  You're 
right,  Aunt  Melissa ;  we  won't  go  ashore ;  we  will 
stay  here,  and  respect  our  illusions." 

At  heart,  perhaps,  Lucy  did  not  quite  like  this 
retreat ;  it  was  not  in  harmony  with  the  youthful 
spirit  of  her  sex,  but  she  reflected  that  she  could 
come  again,  —  O  beneficent  cheat  of  Another  Time, 
how  much  thou  sparest  us  in  our  over- worked,  over- 
enjoyed  world  !  —  she  was  very  comfortable  where 
she  was,  in  a  seat  commanding  a  perfect  view  for  the 
return  trip;  and  she  submitted  without  a  murmur. 
Besides,  now  that  the  boat  had  drawn  up  to  the  pier, 
and  discharged  part  of  her  passengers,  and  was  wait- 
ing to  take  on  others,  Lucy  was  interested  in  a  mass 
of  fluttering  dresses  and  wide-rimmed  straw  hats 
that  drew  down  toward  the  "  Rose  Standish,"  and 
gracefully  thronged  the  pier,  and  prettily  hesitated 
about,  and  finally  came  aboard  with  laughter  and 
little  false  cries  of  terror,  attended  through  all  by  the 
New  England  disproportion  of  that  sex  which  is  so 
foolish  when  it  is  silly.  It  was  a  large  picnic  party 
which  had  been  spending  the  day  upon  the  beach,  as 
each  of  the  ladies  showed  in  her  face,  where,  if  the 
roses  upon  her  cheeks  were  somewhat  obscured  by 
the  imbrowning  seaside  sun,  a  bright  pink  had  been 
compensatingly  bestowed  upon  the  point  of  her  nose. 
A  mysterious  quiet  fell  upon  them  all  when  they 
were  got  aboard  and  had  taken  conspicuous  places, 
which  was  accounted  for  presently  when  a  loud  shout 


150  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

was  heard  from  the  shore,  and  a  man  beside  an  am- 
bulant photographic  machine  was  seen  wildly  waving 
his  hat.  It  is  impossible  to  resist  a  temptation  of 
this  kind,  and  our  party  all  yielded,  and  posed  them- 
selves in  striking  and  characteristic  attitudes,  —  even 
Aunt  Melissa  sharing  the  ambition  to  appear  in  a 
picture  which  she  should  never  see,  and  the  nurse 
coming  out  strong  from  the  abeyance  in  which  she 
had  been  held,  and  lifting  the  baby  high  into  the  air 
for  a  good  likeness.  The  frantic  gesticulator  on  the 
shore  gave  an  impressive  wave  with  both  hands,  took 
the  cap  from  the  instrument,  turned  his  back,  as  pho- 
tographers always  do,  with  that  air  of  hiding  their 
tears,  for  the  brief  space  that  seems  so  long,  and 
then  clapped  on  the  cap  again,  while  a  great  sigh  of 
relief  went  up  from  the  whole  boat-load  of  passen- 
gers. They  were  taken. 

But  the  interval  had  been  a  luckless  one  for  the 
"  Rose  Standish,"  and  when  she  stirred  her  wheels, 
clouds  of  mud  rose  to  the  top  of  the  water,  and 
there  was  no  responsive  movement  of  the  boat.  She 
was  aground  in  the  falling  tide. 

"  There  seems  a  pretty  fair  prospect  of  our  spend- 
ing some  time  here,  after  all,"  said  Frank,  while  the 
ladies,  who  had  reluctantly  given  up  the  idea  of  stay- 
ing, were  now  in  a  quiver  of  impatience  to  be  off. 
The  picnic  was  shifted  from  side  to  side ;  the  engine 
groaned  and  tugged,  Captain  Miles  Standish  and  his 
crew  bestirred  themselves  vigorously,  and  at  last  the 
boat  swung  loose,  and  strode  down  the  sea-weedy 
channels  ;  while  our  friends,  who  had  already  done 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  151 

the  great  sights  of  the  harbor,  now  settled  themselves 
to  the  enjoyment  of  its  minor  traits  and  beauties. 
Here  and  there  they  passed  small  parties  on  the 
shore,  which,  with  their  yachts  anchored  near,  or 
their  boats  drawn  up  from  the  water,  were  cooking 
an  out-door  meal  by  a  fire  that  burned  bright  red 
upon  the  sands  in  the  late  afternoon  air.  In  such 
cases,  people  willingly  indulge  themselves  in  salut- 
ing whatever  craft  goes  by,  and  the  ladies  of  these 
small  picnics,  as  they  sat  round  the  fires,  kept  up 
a  great  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  and  sometimes 
cheered  the  "  Rose  Standish,"  though  I  believe  the 
Bostonians  are  ordinarily  not  a  demonstrative  race. 
Of  course  the  large  picnic  on  board  fluttered  multi- 
tudinous handkerchiefs  in  response,  both  to  these 
people  ashore  and  to  those  who  hailed  them  from 
vessels  which  they  met.  They  did  not  refuse  the 
politeness  even  to  the  passengers  on  a  rival  boat 
when  she  passed  them,  though  at  heart  they  must 
have  felt  some  natural  pangs  at  being  passed.  The 
water  was  peopled  everywhere  by  all  sorts  of  sail 
lagging  slowly  homeward  in  the  light  evening  breeze  ; 
and  on  some  of  the  larger  vessels  there  were  family 
groups  to  be  seen,  and  a  graceful  smoke,  suggestive 
of  supper,  curled  from  the  cook's  galley.  I  suppose 
these  ships  were  chiefly  coasting  craft,  of  one  kind 
or  another,  come  from  the  Provinces  at  farthest ;  but 
to  the  ignorance  and  the  fancy  of  our  friends,  they 
arrived  from  all  remote  and  romantic  parts  of  the 
world,  —  from  India,  from  China,  and  from  the  South 
Seas,  with  cargoes  of  spices  and  gums  and  tropical 


152  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

fruits ;  and  I  see  no  reason  why  one  should  ever 
deny  himself  the  easy  pleasure  they  felt  in  painting 
the  unknown  in  such  lively  hues.  The  truth  is,  a 
strange  ship,  if  you  will  let  her,  always  brings  you 
precious  freight,  always  arrives  from  Wonderland 
under  the  command  of  Captain  Sinbad.  How  like  a 
beautiful  sprite  she  looks  afar  off,  as  if  she  came  from 
some  finer  and  fairer  world  than  ours  !  Nay,  we  will 
not  go  out  to  meet  her ;  we  will  not  go  on  board ; 
Captain  Sinbad  shall  bring  us  the  invoice  of  gold- 
dust,  slaves,  and  rocs'  eggs  to-night,  and  we  will 
have  some  of  the  eggs  for  breakfast ;  or  if  he  never 
comes,  are  we  not  just  as  rich  ?  But  I  think  these 
friends  of  ours  got  a  yet  keener  pleasure  out  of  the 
spectacle  of  a  large  and  stately  ship,  that  with  all 
sails  spread  moved  silently  and  steadily  out  toward 
the  open  sea.  It  is  yet  grander  and  sweeter  to  sail 
toward  the  unknown  than  to  come  from  it;  and 
every  vessel  that  leaves  port  has  this  destination,  and 
will  bear  you  thither  if  you  will. 

"  It  may  be  that  the  gulf  shall  wash  us  down ; 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew," 

absently  murmured  Lucy,  looking  on  this  beautiful 
apparition. 

"  But  I  can't  help  thinking  of  Ulysses'  cabin-boy, 
yonder,"  said  Cousin  Frank,  after  a  pause ;  "  can 
you,  Aunt  Melissa?  " 

"I  don't  understand  what  you're  talking  about, 
Franklin,"  answered  Aunt  Melissa,  somewhat  se- 
verely. 


A  DAY'S  PLEASUEE.  153 

"  Why,  I  mean  that  there  is  a  poor  wretch  of  a 
boy  on  board  there,  who's  run  away,  and  whose 
heart  must  be  aching  just  now  at  the  thought  of  the 
home  he  has  left.  I  hope  Ulysses  will  be  good  to 
him,  and  not  swear  at  him  for  a  day  or  two,  or 
knock  him  about  with  a  belaying-pin.  Just  about 
this  time  his  mother,  up  in  the  country,  is  getting 
ready  his  supper,  and  wondering  what's  become  of 
him,  and  torturing  herself  with  hopes  that  break  one 
by  one  ;  and  to-night  when  she  goes  up  to  his  empty 
room,  having  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  the  tru- 
ant's come  back  and  climbed  in  at  the  window  " — 

"Why,  Franklin,  this  isn't  true,  is  it?"  asks 
Aunt  Melissa. 

"Well,  no,  let's  pray  Heaven  it  isn't,  in  this  case. 
It's  been  true  often  enough  to  be  false  for  once." 

"What  a  great,  ugly,  black  object  a  ship  is  !  "  said 
Cousin  Lucy. 

Slowly  the  city  rose  up  against  the  distance, 
sharpening  all  its  outlines,  and  filling  in  all  its  famil- 
iar details,  —  like  a  fact  which  one  dreams  is  a 
dream,  and  which,  as  the  mists  of  sleep  break  away, 
shows  itself  for  reality. 

The  air  grows  closer  and  warmer, —  it  is  the 
breath  of  the  hot  and  toil-worn  land. 

The  boat  makes  her  way  up  through  the  shipping, 
seeks  her  landing,  and  presently  rubs  herself  affec- 
tionately against  the  wharf.  The  passengers  quickly 
disperse  themselves  upon  shore,  dismissed  each  with 
an  appropriate  sarcasm  by  the  tipsy  man,  who  has 
had  the  means  of  keeping  himself  drunk  throughout, 


154  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

and  who  now  looks  to  the  discharge  of  the  boat's 
cargo. 

As  our  friends  leave  the  wharf-house  behind  them, 
and  straggle  uneasily,  and  very  conscious  of  sun- 
burn, up  the  now  silent  length  of  Pearl  Street  to 
seek  the  nearest  horse-cars,  they  are  aware  of  a 
curious  fidgeting  of  the  nurse,  who  flies  from  one 
side  of  the  pavement  to  the  other  and  violently  shifts 
the  baby  from  one  arm  to  the  other. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asks  Frank ;  but  before 
the  nurse  can  answer,  "  Thim  little  divils,"  he  per- 
ceives that  the  whooping-coughers  of  the  morning 
have  taken  the  occasion  to  renew  a  pleasant  ac- 
quaintance, and  are  surrounding  the  baby  and  nurse 
with  an  atmosphere  of  whooping-cough. 

"  I  say,  friends  !  we  can't  stand  this,  you  know," 
says  the  anxious  father.  "  We  must  part  some  time, 
and  this  is  a  favorable  moment.  Now  I'll  give  you  all 
this,  if  you  don't  come  another  step  !  "  and  he  emp- 
ties out  to  them,  from  the  hand-bags  he  carries, 
the  fragments  of  lunch  which  the  frugal  mind  of 
Aunt  Melissa  had  caused  her  to  store  there.  Upon 
these  the  whooping-coughers  hurl  themselves  in  a 
body,  and  are  soon  left  round  the  corner.  Yet  they 
would  have  been  no  disgrace  to  our  party,  whose 
appearance  was  now  most  disreputable :  Frank  and 
Lucy  stalked  ahead,  with  shawls  dragging  from  their 
arms,  the  former  loaded  down  with  hand-bags  and 
the  latter  with  India-rubbers  ;  Aunt  Melissa  came 
next  under  a  burden  of  bloated  umbrellas  ;  the  nurse 
last,  with  her  hat  awry,  and  the  baby  a  caricature  of 


A  DAY'S  PLEASUEE.  155 

its  morning  trimness,  in  her  embrace.  A  day's 
pleasure  is  so  demoralizing,  that  no  party  can  stand 
it,  and  come  out  neat  and  orderly. 

"  Cousin  Frank,"  asked  Lucy,  awfully,  "  what  if 
we  should  meet  the  Mayflowers  now  ?  "  —  the  May- 
flowers being  a  very  ancient  and  noble  Boston  family 
whose  acquaintance  was  the  great  pride  and  terror 
of  our  friends'  lives. 

"I  should  cut  them  dead,"  said  Frank,  and 
scarcely  spoke  again  till  his  party  dragged  slowly  up 
the  steps  of  their  minute  suburban  villa. 

At  the  door  his  wife  met  them  with  a  troubled  and 
anxious  face. 

"  Calamities  ?  "  asked  Frank,  desperately. 

"  O,  calamities  upon  calamities !  We've  got  a 
lost  child  in  the  kitchen,"  answered  Mrs.  Sallie. 

"  O  good  heavens ! "  cried  her  husband.  "  Adieu, 
my  dreams  of  repose,  so  desirable  after  the  quantity 
of  active  enjoyment  I've  had  !  Well,  where  is  the 
lost  child?" 


III.  —  THE  EVENING. 

"WHERE  is  the  lost  child?"  repeats  Frank,  des- 
perately. "  Where  have  you  got  him  ?  " 

"  In  the  kitchen." 

"  Why  in  the  kitchen  ?  " 

"  How's  baby  ? "  demands  Mrs.  Sallie,  with  the 
incoherent  suddenness  of  her  sex,  and  running  half- 
way down  the  steps  to  meet  the  nurse.  "  Um,  um, 
um-m-m-m,"  sounds,  which  may  stand  for  smothered 
kisses  of  rapture  and  thanksgiving  that  baby  is  not  a 
lost  child.  "  Has  he  been  good,  Lucy  ?  Take  him 
off  and  give  him  some  cocoa,  Mrs.  O'Gonegal,"  she 
adds  in  her  business-like  way,  and  with  a  little  push 
to  the  combined  nurse  and  baby,  while  Lucy 
answers,  "  O  beautiful !  "  and  from  that  moment, 
being  warned  through  all  her  being  by  something  in 
the  other's  tone,  casts  aside  the  matronly  manner 
which  she  has  worn  during  the  day,  and  lapses  into 
the  comfortable  irresponsibility  of  young-ladyhood. 

"  What  kind  of  a  time  did  you  have  ?  " 

"Splendid!"  answers  Lucy.  "Delightful,  I 
think,"  she  adds,  as  if  she  thought  others  might  not 
think  so. 

"I  suppose  you  found  Gloucester  a  quaint  old 
place." 


157 

"  O,"  says  Frank,  uwe  didn't  go  to  Gloucester; 
"  we  found  tliat  the  City  Fathers  had  chartered  the 
boat  for  the  day,  so  we  thought  we'd  go  to  Nahant." 

"  Then  you've  seen  your  favorite  Gardens  of 
Maolis  !  What  in  the  world  are  they  like  ?  " 

"  Well ;  we  didn't  see  the  Gardens  of  Maolis ; 
the  Nahant  boat  was  so  crowded  that  we  couldn't 
think  of  going  on  her,  and  so  we  decided  we'd  drive 
over  to  the  Liverpool  Wharf  and  go  down  to  Nan- 
tasket  Beach." 

"  That  was  nice.  I'm  so  glad  on  Aunt  Melissa's 
account.  It 's  much  better  to  see  the  ocean  from  a 
long  beach  than  from  those  Nahant  rocks." 

"  That's  what  /said.  But,  you  know,  when  we 
got  to  the  wharf  the  boat  had  just  left." 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  Well,  then,  what  under 
the  canopy  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  we  sat  down  in  the  wharf-house,  and 
waited  from  nine  o'clock  till  half-past  two  for  the 
next  boat." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  didn't  back  out,  at  any  rate. 
You  did  show  pluck,  you  poor  things  !  I  hope  you 
enjoyed  the  beach  after  you  did  get  there." 

"Why,"  says  Frank,  looking  down,  "we  never 
got  there." 

"  Never  got  there  !  "  gasps  Mrs.  Sallie.  "  Didn't 
you  go  down  on  the  afternoon  boat  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  didn't  you  get  to  the  beach,  then  ?  " 

"  We  didn't  go  ashore." 

"  Well,  that's  like  you,  Frank." 


158  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

"  It 's  a  great  deal  more  like  Aunt  Melissa,"  an- 
swers Frank.  "  The  air  felt  so  raw  and  chilly  by 
the  time  we  reached  the  pier,  that  she  declared  the 
baby  would  perish  if  it  was  taken  to  the  beach. 
Besides,  nothing  would  persuade  her  that  Nantasket 
Beach  was  at  all  different  from  Liverpool  Wharf." 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind ! "  says  Mrs.  Sallie. 
"  I  don't  wish  to  hear  anything  more.  That's  your 
idea  of  a  day's  pleasure,  is  it  ?  I  call  it  a  day's  dis- 
grace, a  day's  miserable  giving-up.  There,  go  in, 
go  in ;  I'm  ashamed  of  you  all.  Don't  let  the 
neighbors  see  you,  for  pity's  sake.  —  We  keep  him 
in  the  kitchen,"  she  continues,  recurring  to  Frank's 
long-unanswered  question  concerning  the  lost  child, 
"  because  he  prefers  it  as  being  the  room  nearest  to 
the  closet  where  the  cookies  are.  He  's  taken  ad- 
vantage of  our  sympathies  to  refuse  everything  but 
cookies." 

"  I  suppose  that's  one  of  the  rights  of  lost  child- 
hood," comments  Frank,  languidly ;  "  there's  no 
law  that  can  compel  him  to  touch  even  cracker." 

"  Well,  you'd  better  go  down  and  see  what  you 
can  make  of  him.  He's  driven  us  all  wild." 

So  Frank  descends  to  the  region  now  redolent  of 
the  preparing  tea,  and  finds  upon  a  chair,  in  the 
middle  of  the  kitchen  floor,  a  very  forlorn  little  fig- 
ure of  a  boy,  mutely  munching  a  sweet- cake,  while 
now  and  then  a  tear  steals  down  his  cheeks  and 
moistens  the  grimy  traces  of  former  tears.  He  and 
baby  are,  in  the  mean  time  regarding  each  other  with 
a  steadfast  glare,  the  cook  and  the  nurse  supporting 
baby  in  this  rite  of  hospitality. 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  159 

"  Well,  my  little  man,"  says  his  host,  "  how  did 
you  get  here  ?  " 

The  little  man,  perhaps  because  he  is  heartily  sick 
of  the  question,  is  somewhat  slow  to  answer  that 
there  was  a  fire ;  and  that  he  ran  after  the  steamer ; 
and  a  girl  found  him  and  brought  him  up  here. 

"  And  that's  all  the  blessed  thing  you  can  get  out 
of  him,"  says  cook ;  and  the  lost  boy  looks  as  if  he 
felt  cook  to  be  perfectly  right. 

In  spite  of  the  well-meant  endeavors  of  the  house- 
hold to  wash  him  and  brush  him,  he  is  still  a  dread- 
fully travel-stained  little  boy,  and  he  is  powdered  in 
every  secret  crease  and  wrinkle  by  that  dust  of  old 
Charlesbridge,  of  which  we  always  speak  with  an 
air  of  affected  disgust,  and  a  feeling  of  ill-concealed 
pride  in  an  abomination  so  strikingly  and  peculiarly 
our  own.  He  looks  very  much  as  if  he  had  been 
following  fire-engines  about  the  streets  of  our  learned 
and  pulverous  suburb  ever  since  he  could  walk,  and 
he  certainly  seems  to  feel  himself  in  trouble  to  a 
certain  degree ;  but  there  is  easily  imaginable  in  his 
bearing  a  conviction  that  after  all  the  chief  care  is 
with  others,  and  that,  though  unhappy,  he  is  not 
responsible.  The  principal  victim  of  his  sorrows  is 
also  penetrated  by  this  opinion,  and  after  gazing 
forlornly  upon  him  for  a  while,  asks  mechanically, 
"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Freddy,"  is  the  laconic  answer. 

"Freddy — ?  "  trying  with  an  artful  inflection  to 
lead  him  on  to  his  surname. 

"  Freddy,"  decidedly  and  conclusively. 


160  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

"  O,  bless  me  !  What's  the  name  of  the  street 
your  papa  lives  on  ?  " 

This  problem  is  far  too  deep  for  Freddy,  and  he 
takes  a  bite  of  sweet-cake  in  sign  that  he  does  not 
think  of  solving  it.  Frank  looks  at  him  gloomily  for 
a  moment,  and  then  determines  that  he  can  grapple 
with  the  difficulty  more  successfully  after  he  has  had 
tea.  "  Send  up  the  supper,  Bridget.  I  think,  my 
dear,"  he  says,  after  they  have  sat  down,  "  we'd 
better  all  question  our  lost  child  when  we've  fin- 
ished." 

So,  when  they  have  finished,  they  have  him  up  in 
the  sitting-room,  and  the  inquisition  begins. 

"  Now,  Freddy,"  his  host  says,  with  a  cheerful  air 
of  lifelong  friendship  and  confidence,  "  you  know 
that  everybody  has  got  two  names.  Of  course  your 
first  name  is  Freddy,  and  it 's  a  very  pretty  name. 
Well,  I  want  you  to  think  real  hard,  and  then  tell 
me  what  your  other  name  is,  so  I  can  take  you  back 
to  your  mamma." 

At  this  allusion  the  child  looks  round  on  the  circle 
of  eager  and  compassionate  faces,  and  begins  to  shed 
tears  and  to  wring  all  hearts. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  asks  Frank,  cheerfully,  — 
"  your  other  name,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Freddy,"  sobbed  the  forlorn  creature. 

"  O  good  heaven  !  this'll  never  do,"  groaned  the 
chief  inquisitor.  "  Now,  Freddy,  try  not  to  cry. 
What  is  your  papa's  name,  —  Mr.  — ?"  with  the 
leading  inflection  as  before. 

"  Papa,"  says  Freddy. 


161 

"  O,  that'll  never  do  !     Not  Mr.  Papa?  " 

"  Yes,"  persists  Freddy. 

"  But,  Freddy,"  interposes  Mrs.  Sallie,  as  her 
husband  falls  back  baffled,  "  when  ladies  come  to  see 
your  mamma,  what  do  they  call  her?  Mrs. —  ?" 
adopting  Frank's  alluring  inflection. 

"Mrs.  Mamma,"  answers  Freddy,  confirmed  in 
his  error  by  this  course  ;  and  a  secret  dismay  pos- 
sesses his  questioners.  They  skirmish  about  him 
with  every  sort  of  query ;  they  try  to  entrap  him  into 
some  kind  of  revelation  by  apparently  irrelevant 
remarks;  they  plan  ambuscades  and  surprises;  but 
Freddy  looks  vigilantly  round  upon  them,  and  guards 
his  personal  history  from  every  approach,  and  seems 
in  every  way  so  to  have  the  best  of  it,  that  it  is 
almost  exasperating. 

"  Kindness  has  proved  futile,"  observes  Frank, 
"  and  I  think  we  ought  as  a  last  resort,  before  yield- 
ing ourselves  to  despair,  to  use  intimidation.  Now, 
Fred,"  he  says,  with  sudden  and  terrible  severity, 
"  what's  your  father's  name  ?  " 

The  hapless  little  soul  is  really  moved  to  an  effort 
of  memory  by  this,  and  blubbers  out  something  that 
proves  in  the  end  to  resemble  the  family  name, 
though  for  the  present  it  is  merely  a  puzzle  of  unin- 
telligible sounds." 

"Blackmail?"  cries  Aunt  Melissa,  catching  des- 
perately at  these  sounds. 

On   this,  all   the   man  and  brother  is  roused  in 
Freddy's   bosom,  and   he  roars  fiercely,   "  No  !    he 
ain't  a  black  man  !     He's  white  !  " 
11 


162  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

"  I  give  it  up,"  says  Frank,  who  has  been  looking 
for  his  hat.  "  I'm  afraid  we  can't  make  anything 
out  of  him ;  and  I'll  have  to  go  and  report  the  case 
to  the  police.  But,  put  him  to  bed,  do,  Sallie  ;  he's 
dropping  with  sleep." 

So  he  went  out,  of  course  supported  morally  by  a 
sense  of  duty,  but  I  am  afraid  also  by  a  sense  of  ad- 
venture in  some  degree.  It  is  not  every  day  that, 
in  so  quiet  a  place  as  Charlesbridge,  you  can  have  a 
lost  child  cast  upon  your  sympathies  ;  and  I  believe 
that  when  an  appeal  is  not  really  agonizing,  we  like 
so  well  to  have  our  sympathies  touched,  we  favorites 
of  the  prosperous  commonplace,  that  most  of  us 
would  enter  eagerly  into  a  pathetic  case  of  this  kind, 
even  after  a  day's  pleasure.  Such  was  certainly  the 
mood  of  my  friend,  and  he  unconsciously  prepared 
himself  for  an  equal  interest  on  the  part  of  the 
police  ;  but  this  was  an  error.  The  police  heard  his 
statement  with  all  proper  attention,  and  wrote  it  in 
full  upon  the  station-slate,  but  they  showed  no  feel- 
ing whatever,  and  behaved  as  if  they  valued  a  lost 
child  no  more  than  a  child  snug  at  home  in  his  own 
crib.  They  said  that  no  doubt  his  parents  would  be 
asking  at  the  police-stations  for  him  during  the  night, 
and,  as  if  my  friend  would  otherwise  have  thought 
of  putting  him  into  the  street,  they  suggested  that 
he  should  just  keep  the  lost  child  till  he  was  sent  for. 
Modestly  enough  Frank  proposed  that  they  should 
make  some  inquiry  for  his  parents,  and  was  answered 
by  the  question  whether  they  could  take  a  man  off  his 
beat  for  that  purpose  ;  and  remembering  that  beats  in 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  163 

Charlesbridge  were  of  such  vastness  that  during  his 
whole  residence  there  he  had  never  yet  seen  a  police- 
man on  his  street,  he  was  obliged  to  own  to  himself 
that  his  proposal  was  absurd.  He  felt  the  need  of 
reinstating  himself  by  something  more  sensible,  and 
so  he  said  he  thought  he  would  go  down  to  the  Port 
and  leave  word  at  the  station  there  ;  and  the  police 
tacitly  assenting  to  this  he  went. 

I  who  have  sometimes  hinted  that  the  Square  is 
not  a  centre  of  gayety,  or  a  scene  of  the  greatest 
activity  by  day,  feel  it  right  to  say  that  it  has  some 
modest  charms  of  its  own  on  a  summer's  night,  about 
the  hour  when  Frank  passed  through  it,  when  the 
post-office  has  just  been  shut,  and  when  the  differ- 
ent groups  that  haunt  the  place  in  front  of  the  clos- 
ing shops  have  dwindled  to  the  loungers  fit  though 
few  who  will  keep  it  well  into  the  night,  and  may 
there  be  found,  by  the  passenger  on  the  last  horse- 
car  out  from  Boston,  wrapt  in  a  kind  of  social 
silence,  and  honorably  attended  by  the  policeman 
whose  favored  beat  is  in  that  neighborhood.  They 
seem  a  feature  of  the  bygone  village  life  of  Charles- 
bridge,  and  accord  pleasantly  with  the  town-pump 
and  the  public  horse-trough,  and  the  noble  elm 
that  by  night  droops  its  boughs  so  pensively,  and 
probably  dreams  of  "its  happy  younger  days  when 
there  were  no  canker-worms  in  the  world.  Some- 
times this  choice  company  sits  on  the  curbing  that 
goes  round  the  terrace  at  the  elm-tree's  foot,  and 
then  I  envy  every  soul  in  it,  —  so  tranquil  it  seems, 
so  cool,  so  careless,  so  morrowless.  I  cannot  see  the 


164  SUBUEBAN  SKETCHES. 

faces  of  that  luxurious  society,  but  there  I  imagine 
is  the  local  albino,  and  a  certain  blind  man,  who 
resorts  thither  much  by  day,  and  makes  a  strange 
kind  of  jest  of  his  own,  with  a  flicker  of  humor  upon 
his  sightless  face,  and  a  faith  that  others  less  unkindly 
treated  by  nature  will  be  able  to  see  the  point  appar- 
ently not  always  discernible  to  himself.  Late  at 
night  I  have  a  fancy  that  the  darkness  puts  him  on 
an  equality  with  other  wits,  and  that  he  enjoys  his 
own  brilliancy  as  well  as  any  one. 

At  the  Port  station  Frank  was  pleased  and  soothed 
by  the  tranquil  air  of  the  policeman,  who  sat  in  his 
shirt-sleeves  outside  the  door,  and  seemed  to  an- 
nounce, by  his  attitude  of  final  disoccupation,  that 
crimes  and  misdemeanors  were  no  more.  This 
officer  at  once  showed  a  desirable  interest  in  the 
case.  He  put  on  his  blue  coat  that  he  might  listen 
to  the  whole  story  in  a  proper  figure,  and  then  he 
took  down  the  main  points  on  the  slate,  and  said  that 
they  would  send  word  round  to  the  other  stations 
in  the  city,  and  the  boy's  parents  could  hardly  help 
hearing  of  him  that  night. 

Returned  home,  Frank  gave  his  news,  and  then 
he  and  Mrs.  Sallie  went  up  to  look  at  the  lost  child 
as  he  slept.  The  sumptuous  diet  to  which  he  had 
confined  himself  from  the  first  seemed  to  agree  with 
him  perfectly,  for  he  slept  unbrokenly,  and  appar- 
ently without  a  consciousness  of  his  woes.  On  a  chair 
lay  his  clothes,  in  a  dusty  little  pathetic  heap  ;  they 
were  well-kept  clothes,  except  for  the  wrong  his 
wanderings  had  done  them,  and  they  showed  a 


165 

motherly  care  here  and  there,  which  it  was  not  easy 
to  look  at  with  composure.  The  spectators  of  his  sleep 
both  thought  of  the  curious  chance  that  had  thrown 
this  little  one  into  their  charge,  and  considered  that 
he  was  almost  as  completely  a  gift  of  the  Unknown  as 
if  he  had  been  following  a  steamer  in  another  planet, 
and  had  thence  dropped  into  their  yard.  His  help~ 
lessness  in  accounting  for  himself  was  as  affecting  as 
that  of  the  sublime st  metaphysician  ;  and  no  learned 
man,  no  superior  intellect,  no  subtle  inquirer  among 
us  lost  children  of  the  divine,  forgotten  home,  could 
have  been  less  able  to  say  how  or  whence  he  came 
to  be  just  where  he  found  himself.  We  wander 
away  and  away;  the  dust  of  the  road-side  gathers 
upon  us ;  and  when  some  strange  shelter  receives  us, 
we  lie  down  to  our  sleep,  inarticulate,  and  haunted 
with  dreams  of  memory,  or  the  memory  of  dreams, 
knowing  scarcely  more  of  the  past  than  of  the  fu- 
ture. 

"  What  a  strange  world !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Sallie  ; 
and  then,  as  this  was  a  mood  far  too  speculative  for 
her,  she  recalled  herself  to  practical  life  suddenly. 
"  If  we  should  have  to  adopt  this  child,  Frank  " — 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul,  we're  not  obliged  to  adopt 
him  !  Even  a  lost  child  can't  demand  that." 

"  We  shall  adopt  him,  if  they  don't  come  for  him. 
And  now,  I  want  to  know  "  (Mrs.  Sallie  spoke  as  if 
the  adoption  had  been  effected)  "  whether  we  shall 
give  him  our  name,  or  some  other  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  It 's  the  first  child  I've 
ever  adopted,"  said  Frank;  "and  upon  my  word,  I 


166  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

can't  say  whether  you  have  to  give  him  a  new  name 
or  not.  In  fact,  if  I'd  thought  of  this  affair  of  a 
name,  I'd  never  have  adopted  him.  It 's  the  greatest 
part  of  the  burden,  and  if  his  father  will  only  come 
for  him,  I'll  give  him  up  without  a  murmur." 

In  the  interval  that  followed  the  proposal  of  this 
alarming  difficulty,  and  while  he  sat  and  waited 
vaguely  for  whatever  should  be  going  to  happen 
next,  Frank  was  not  able  to  repress  a  sense  of  per- 
sonal resentment  towards  the  little  vagrant  sleeping 
so  carelessly  there,  though  at  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  there  was  all  imaginable  tenderness  for  him. 
In  the  fantastic  character  which,  to  his  weariness, 
the  day's  pleasure  took  on,  it  seemed  an  extraordi- 
nary unkindness  of  fate  that  this  lost  child  should 
have  been  kept  in  reserve  for  him  after  all  the  rest ; 
and  he  had  so  small  consciousness  of  bestowing 
shelter  and  charity,  and  so  profound  a  feeling  of 
having  himself  been  turned  out  of  house  and  home 
by  some  surprising  and  potent  agency,  that  if  the 
lost  child  had  been  a  regiment  of  Fenians  billeted 
upon  him,  it  could  not  have  oppressed  him  more. 
While  he  remained  perplexed  in  this  perverse  senti- 
ment of  invasion  and  dispossession,  "Hark!"  said 
Mrs.  Sallie,  "what's  that?  " 

It  was  a  noise  of  dragging  and  shuffling  on  the 
walk  in  front  of  the  house,  and  a  low,  hoarse  whis- 
pering. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Frank,  "  but  from  the  kind 
of  pleasure  I've  got  out  of  it  so  far,  I  should  say 
that  this  holiday  was  capable  of  an  earthquake  be- 
fore midnight.'' 


A  DAY'S  PLEASURE.  167 

"  Listen  !  " 

They  listened,  as  they  must,  and  heard  the  outer 
darkness  rehearse  a  raucous  dialogue  between  an 
unseen  Bill  and  Jim,  who  were  the  more  terrible 
to  the  imagination  from  being  so  realistically  named, 
and  who  seemed  to  have  in  charge  some  nameless 
third  person,  a  mute  actor  in  the  invisible  scene. 
There  was  doubt,  which  he  uttered,  in  the  mind  of 
Jim,  whether  they  could  get  this  silent  comrade 
along  much  farther  without  carrying  him  ;  and  there 
was  a  growling  assent  from  Bill  that  he  was  pretty 
far  gone,  that  was  a  fact,  and  that  maybe  Jim  "had 
better  go  for  the  wagon  ;  then  there  were  quick,  re- 
treating steps  ;  and  then  there  was  a  profound  silence, 
in  which  the  audience  of  this  strange  drama  sat 
thrilled  and  speechless.  The  effect  was  not  less 
dreadful  when  there  rose  a  dull  sound,  as  of  a  help- 
less body  rubbing  against  the  fence,  and  at  last 
lowered  heavily  to  the  ground. 

"  O  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Sallie.  "'Do  go  out  and  help. 
He's  dying !  " 

But  even  as  she  spoke  the  noise  of  wheels  was 
heard.  A  wagon  stopped  before  the  door ;  there 
came  a  tugging  and  lifting,  with  a  sound  as  of 
crunching  gravel,  and  then  a  "  There !  "  of  great 
relief. 

"  Frank  !  "  said  Mrs.  Sallie  very  solemnly,  "  if 
you  don't  go  out  and  help  those  men,  I'll  never  for- 
give you." 

Really,  the  drama  had  grown  very  impressive  ;  it 
was  a  mystery,  to  say  the  least ;  and  so  it  must  re- 


168  SUBUKBAN  SKETCHES. 

main  forever,  for  when  Frank,  infected  at  last  by  Mrs. 
Sallie's  faith  in  tragedy,  opened  the  door  and  offered 
his  tardy  services,  the  wagon  was  driven  rapidly 
away  without  reply.  They  never  learned  what  it 
had  all  been ;  and  I  think  that  if  one  actually 
honors  mysteries,  it  is  best  not  to  look  into  them. 
How  much  finer,  after  all,  if  you  have  such  a  thing 
as  this  happen  before  your  door  at  midnight,  not  to 
throw  any  light  upon  it !  Then  your  probable  tipsy 
man  cannot  be  proved  other  than  a  tragical  presence, 
which  you  can  match  with  any  inscrutable  creation 
of  fiction ;  and  if  you  should  ever  come  to  write  a 
romance,  as  one  is  very  liable  to  do  in  this  age,  there 
is  your  unknown,  a  figure  of  strange  and  fearful 
interest,  made  to  your  hand,  and  capable  of  being 
used,  in  or  out  of  the  body,  with  a  very  gloomy 
effect. 

While  our  friends  yet  trembled  with  this  sensation, 
quick  steps  ascended  to  their  door,  and  then  fol- 
lowed a  sharp,  anxious  tug  at  the  bell. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Frank,  prophetically,  "  here's  the 
father  of  our  adopted  son ; "  and  he  opened  the 
door. 

The  gentleman  who  appeared  there  could  scarcely 
frame  the  question  to  which  Frank  replied  so  cheer- 
fully :  "  O  yes  ;  he's  here,  and  snug  in  bed,  and  fast 
asleep.  Come  up-stairs  and  look  at  him.  Better  let 
him  be  till  morning,  and  then  come  after  him,"  he 
added,  as  they  looked  down  a  moment  on  the  little 
sleeper. 

"  O  no,  I  couldn't,"  said  the  father,  con  expres- 


A  DAY'S  PLEASUEE.  169 

sione;  and  then  he  told  how  he  had  heard  of  the 
child's  whereabouts  at  the  Port  station,  and  had 
hurried  to  get  him,  and  how  his  mother  did  not 
know  he  was  found  yet,  and  was  almost  wild  about 
him.  They  had  no  idea  how  he  had  got  lost,  and 
his  own  blind  story  was  the  only  tale  of  his  adven- 
ture that  ever  became  known. 

By  this  time  his  father  had  got  the  child  partly 
awake,  and  the  two  men  were  dressing  him  in  men's 
clumsy  fashion ;  and  finally  they  gave  it  up,  and 
rolled  him  in  a  shawl.  The  father  lifted  the  slight 
burden,  and  two  small  arms  fell  about  his  neck.  The 
weary  child  slept  again. 

"  How  has  he  behaved  ?  "  asked  the  father. 

"  Like  a  little  hero,"  said  Frank,  "  but  he's  been  a 
cormorant  for  cookies.  I  think  it  right  to  tell  you, 
in  case  he  shouldn't  be  very  brilliant  to-morrow, 
that  he  wouldn't  eat  a  bit  of  anything  else." 

The  father  said  he  was  the  life  of  their  house  ; 
and  Frank  said  he  knew  how  that  was,  —  that  he  had 
a  life  of  the  house  of  his  own  ;  and  then  the  father 
thanked  him  very  simply  and  touchingly,  and  with 
the  decent  New  England  self-restraint,  which  is 
doubtless  so  much  better  than  any  sort  of  effusion. 
"  Say  good-night  to  the  gentleman,  Freddy,"  he 
said  at  the  door  ;  and  Freddy  with  closed  eyes  mur- 
mured a  good-night  from  far  within  the  land  of 
dreams,  and  then  was  borne  away  to  the  house  out 
of  which  the  life  had  wandered  with  his  little  feet. 

"  I  don't  know,  Sallie,"  said  Frank,  when  he  had 
given  all  the  eagerly  demanded  particulars  about  the 


170  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

child's  father,  —  "I  don't  know  whether  I  should 
want  many  such  holidays  as  this,  in  the  course  of  the 
summer.  On  the  whole,  I  think  I'd  better  over- 
work myself  and  not  take  any  relaxation,  if  I  mean 
to  live  long.  And  yet  I'm  not  sure  that  the  day 's 
been  altogether  a  failure,  though  all  our  purposes  of 
enjoyment  have  miscarried.  I  didn't  plan  to  find  a 
lost  child  here,  when  I  got  home,  and  I'm  afraid  I 
haven't  had  always  the  most  Christian  feeling  towards 
him  ;  but  he's  really  the  saving  grace  of  the  affair ; 
and  if  this  were  a  little  comedy  I  had  been  playing, 
I  should  turn  him  to  account  with  the  jaded  audi- 
ence, and  advancing  to  the  foot-lights,  should  say, 
with  my  hand  on  my  waistcoat,  and  a  neat  bow,  that 
although  every  hope  of  the  day  had  been  disap- 
pointed, and  nothing  I  had  meant  to  do  had  been 
done,  yet  the  man  who  had  ended  at  midnight  by 
restoring  a  lost  child  to  the  arms  of  its  father,  must 
own  that,  in  spite  of  adverse  fortune,  he  had  enjoyed 
A  Day's  Pleasure." 


A  ROMANCE  OF  REAL  LIFE. 

li:  was  long  past  the  twilight  hour,  which  has 
been  already  mentioned  as  so  oppressive  in  suburban 
places,  and  it  was  even  too  late  for  visitors,  when 
a  resident,  whom  I  shall  briefly  describe  as  a  Con- 
tributor to  the  magazines,  was  startled  by  a  ring  at 
his  door.  As  any  thoughtful  person  would  have  done 
upon  the  like  occasion,  he  ran  over  his  acquaintance 
in  his  mind,  speculating  whether  it  were  such  or  such 
a  one,  and  dismissing  the  whole  list  of  improbabili- 
ties, before  he  laid  down  the  book  he  was  reading, 
and  answered  the  bell.  When  at  last  he  did  this,  he 
was  rewarded  by  the  apparition  of  an  utter  stranger 
on  his  threshold,  —  a  gaunt  figure  of  forlorn  and 
curious  smartness  towering  far  above  him,  that  jerked 
him  a  nod  of  the  head,  and  asked  if  Mr.  Hapford  lived 
there.  The  face  which  the  lamp-light  revealed  was 
remarkable  for  a  harsh  two  days'  growth  of  beard, 
and  a  single  bloodshot  eye ;  yet  it  was  not  otherwise 
a  sinister  countenance,  and  there  was  something  in 
the  strange  presence  that  appealed  and  touched. 
The  contributor,  revolving  the  facts  vaguely  in  his 
mind,  was  not  sure,  after  all,  that  it  was  not  the 
man's  clothes  rather  than  his  expression  that  soft- 
ened him  toward  the  rugged  visage  :  they  were  so 
tragically  cheap,  and  the  misery  of  helpless  needle- 


172  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

women,  and  the  poverty  and  ignorance  of  the  pur- 
chaser, were  so  apparent  in  their  shabby  newness,  of 
which  they  appeared  still  conscious  enough  to  have 
led  the  way  to  the  very  window,  in  the  Semitic 
quarter  of  the  city,  where  they  had  lain  ticketed, 
"  This  nobby  suit  for  $15." 

But  the  stranger's  manner  put  both  his  face  and 
his  clothes  out  of  mind,  and  claimed  a  deeper  inter- 
est when,  being  answered  that  the  person  for  whom 
he  asked  did  not  live  there,  he  set  his  bristling  lips 
hard  together,  and  sighed  heavily. 

"  They  told  me,"  he  said,  in  a  hopeless  way, 
"  that  he  lived  on  this  street,  and  I've  been  to  every 
other  house.  I'm  very  anxious  to  find  him,  Cap'n," 

—  the  contributor,  of  course,  had  no  claim  to  the 
title  with  which  he  was  thus  decorated,  —  "  for  I've 
a  daughter  living  with  him,  and  I  want  to  see  her  ; 
I've  just  got  home  from  a  two  years'  voyage,  and  " 

—  there  was  a  struggle  of  the  Adam's-apple  in  the 
man's  gaunt  throat  —  "I  find  she's  about  all  there  is 
left  of  my  family." 

How  complex  is  every  human  motive  !  This  con- 
tributor had  been  lately  thinking,  whenever  he 
turned  the  pages  of  some  foolish  traveller,  —  some 
empty  prattler  of  Southern  or  Eastern  lands,  where 
all  sensation  was  long  ago  exhausted,  and  the  oxygen 
has  perished  from  every  sentiment,  so  has  it  been 
breathed  and  breathed  again,  —  that  nowadays  the 
wise  adventurer  sat  down  beside  his  own  register 
and  waited  for  incidents  to  seek  him  out.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  the  cultivation  of  a  patient  and  receptive 


A  ROMANCE   OF  REAL  LIFE.  173 

spirit  was  the  sole  condition  needed  to  insure  the 
occurrence  of  all  manner  of  surprising  facts  within 
the  range  of  one's  own  personal  knowledge ;  that 
not  only  the  Greeks  were  at  our  doors,  but  the  fairies 
and  the  genii,  and  all  the  people  of  romance,  who 
had  but  to  be  hospitably  treated  in  order  to  develop 
the  deepest  interest  of  fiction,  and  to  become  the 
characters  of  plots  so  ingenious  that  the  most  cun- 
ning invention  were  poor  beside  them.  I  myself  am 
not  so  confident  of  this,  and  would  rather  trust  Mr. 
Charles  Reade,  say,  for  my  amusement  than  any 
chance  combination  of  events.  But  I  should  be 
afraid  to  say  how  much  his  pride  in  the  character  of 
the  stranger's  sorrows,  as  proof  of  the  correctness  of 
his  theory,  prevailed  with  the  contributor  to  ask  him 
to  come  in  and  sit  down  ;  though  I  hope  that  some 
abstract  impulse  of  humanity,  some  compassionate 
and  unselfish  care  for  the  man's  misfortunes  as  mis- 
fortunes, was  not  wholly  wanting.  Indeed,  the  help- 
less simplicity  with  which  he  had  confided  his  case 
might  have  touched  a  harder  heart.  "  Thank  you," 
said  the  poor  fellow,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 
"I  believe  I  will  come  in.  I've  been  on  foot  all 
day,  and  after  such  a  long  voyage  it  makes  a  man 
dreadfully  sore  to  walk  about  so  much.  Perhaps 
you  can  think  of  a  Mr.  Hapford  living  somewhere  in 
the  neighborhood." 

He  sat  down,  and,  after  a  pondering  silence,  in 
which  he  had  remained  with  his  head  fallen  upon 
his  breast,  "  My  name  is  Jonathan  Tinker,"  he  said, 
with  the  unaffected  air  which  had  already  impressed 


174  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

the  contributor,  and  as  if  he  felt  that  some  form  of 
introduction  was  necessary,  "and  the  girl  that  I 
want  to  find  is  Julia  Tinker."  Then  he  added,  re- 
suming the  eventful  personal  history  which  the 
listener  exulted,  while  he  regretted,  to  hear :  "  You 
see,  I  shipped  first  to  Liverpool,  and  there  I  heard 
from  my  family ;  and  then  I  shipped  again  for  Hong- 
Kong,  and  after  that  I  never  heard  a  word :  I  seemed 
to  miss  the  letters  everywhere.  This  morning,  at 
four  o'clock,  I  left  my  ship  as  soon  as  she  had  hauled 
into  the  dock,  and  hurried  up  home.  The  house 
was  shut,  and  not  a  soul  in  it ;  and  I  didn't  know 
what  to  do,  and  I  sat  down  on  the  doorstep  to  wait 
till  the  neighbors  woke  up,  to  ask  them  what  had 
become  of  my  family.  And  the  first  one  come  out 
he  told  me  my  wife  had  been  dead  a  year  and  a  half, 
and  the  baby  I'd  never  seen,  with  her ;  and  one  of 
my  boys  was  dead ;  and  he  didn't  know  where  the 
rest  of  the  children  was,  but  he'd  heard  two  of  the 
little  ones  was  with  a  family  in  the  city." 

The  man  mentioned  these  things  with  the  half- 
apologetic  air  observable  in  a  certain  kind  of  Amer- 
icans when  some  accident  obliges  them  to  confess  the 
infirmity  of  the  natural  feelings.  They  do  not  ask 
your  sympathy,  and  you  offer  it  quite  at  your  own 
risk,  with  a  chance  of  having  it  thrown  back  upon 
your  hands.  The  contributor  assumed  the  risk  so 
far  as  to  say,  "  Pretty  rough !  "  when  the  stranger 
paused ;  and  perhaps  these  homely  words  were  best 
suited  to  reach  the  homely  heart.  The  man's  quiv- 
ering lips  closed  hard  again,  a  kind  of  spasm  passed 


A  ROMANCE   OF  REAL  LIFE.  175 

over  his  dark  face,  and  then  two  very  small  drops  of 
brine  shone  upon  his  weather-worn  cheeks.  This 
demonstration,  into  which  he  had  been  surprised, 
seemed  to  stand  for  the  passion  of  tears  into  which 
the  emotional  races  fall  at  such  times.  He  opened 
his  lips  with  a  kind  of  dry  click,  and  went  on  :  — 

"  I  hunted  about  the  whole  forenoon  in  the  city, 
and  at  last  I  found  the  children.  I'd  been  gone  so 
long  they  didn't  know  me,  and  somehow  I  thought 
the  people  they  were  with  weren't  over-glad  I'd 
turned  up.  Finally  the  oldest  child  told  me  that 
Julia  was  living  with  a  Mr.  Hapford  on  this  street, 
and  I  started  out  here  to-night  to  look  her  up.  If  I 
can  find  her,  I'm  all  right.  I  can  get  the  family  to- 
gether, then,  and  start  new." 

"  It  seems  rather  odd,"  mused  the  listener  aloud, 
"  that  the  neighbors  let  them  break  up  so,  and  that 
they  should  all  scatter  as  they  did." 

44  Well,  it  ain't  so  curious  as  it  seems,  Cap'n. 
There  was  money  for  them  at  the  owners',  all  the 
time  ;  I'd  left  part  of  my  wages  when  I  sailed ;  but 
they  didn't  know  how  to  get  at  it,  and  what  could 
a  parcel  of  children  do  ?  Julia  's  a  good  girl,  and 
when  I  find  her  I'm  all  right." 

The  writer  could  only  repeat  that  there  was  no 
Mr.  Hapford  living  on  that  street,  and  never  had 
been,  so  far  as  he  knew.  Yet  there  might  be  such  a 
person  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  they  would  go  out 
together,  and  ask  at  some  of  the  houses  about.  But 
the  stranger  must  first  take  a  glass  of  wine ;  for  he 
looked  used  up. 


176  SUBUKBAN   SKETCHES. 

The  sailor  awkwardly  but  civilly  enough  protested 
that  he  did  not  want  to  give  so  much  trouble,  but 
took  the  glass,  and,  as  he  put  it  to  his  lips,  said  for- 
mally, as  if  it  were  a  toast  or  a  kind  of  grace,  "  I 
hope  I  may  have  the  opportunity  of  returning  the 
compliment."  The  contributor  thanked  him;  though, 
as  he  thought  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case, 
and  considered  the  cost  at  which  the  stranger  had 
come  to  enjoy  his  politeness,  he  felt  little  eagerness 
to  secure  the  return  of  the  compliment  at  the  same 
price,  and  added,  with  the  consequence  of  another 
set  phrase,  "  Not  at  all."  But  the  thought  had  made 
him  the  more  anxious  to  befriend  the  luckless  soul 
fortune  had  cast  in  his  way  ;  and  so  the  two  sallied 
out  together,  and  rang  door-bells  wherever  lights 
were  still  seen  burning  in  the  windows,  and  asked 
the  astonished  people  who  answered  their  summons 
whether  any  Mr.  Hapford  were  known  to  live  in  the 
neighborhood. 

And  although  the  search  for  this  gentleman  proved 
vain,  the  contributor  could  not  feel  that  an  expedi- 
tion which  set  familiar  objects  in  such  novel  lights 
was  altogether  a  failure.  He  entered  so  intimately 
into  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  his  protege,  that  at 
times  he  felt  himself  in  some  inexplicable  sort  a  ship- 
mate of  Jonathan  Tinker,  and  almost  personally  a 
partner  of  his  calamities.  The  estrangement  of  all 
things  which  takes  place,  within  doors  and  without, 
about  midnight  may  have  helped  to  cast  this  doubt 
upon  his  identity  ;  —  he  seemed  to  be  visiting  now 
for  the  first  time  the  streets  and  neighborhoods  near- 


A  ROMANCE  OF  REAL  LIFE.  177 

est  his  own,  and  his  feet  stumbled  over  the  accus- 
tomed walks.  In  his  quality  of  houseless  wanderer, 
and  —  so  far  as  appeared  to  others  —  possibly 
worthless  vagabond,  he  also  got  a  new  and  instruc- 
tive effect  upon  the  faces  which,  in  his  real  character, 
he  knew  so  well  by  their  looks  of  neighborly  greet- 
ing; and  it  is  his  belief  that  the  first  hospitable 
prompting  of  the  human  heart  is  to  shut  the  door  in 
the  eyes  of  homeless  strangers  who  present  them- 
selves after  eleven  o'clock.  By  that  time  the  ser- 
vants are  all  abed,  and  the  gentleman  of  the  house 
answers  the  bell,  and  looks  out  with  a  loath  and  be- 
wildered face,  which  gradually  changes  to  one  of 
suspicion,  and  of  wonder  as  to  what  those  fellows 
can  possibly  want  of  him,  till  at  last  the  prevailing 
expression  is  one  of  contrite  desire  to  atone  for  the 
first  reluctance  by  any  sort  of  service.  The  con- 
tributor professes  to  have  observed  these  changing 
phases  in  the  visages  of  those  whom  he  that  night 
called  from  their  dreams,  or  arrested  in  the  act  of 
going  to  bed ;  and  he  drew  the  conclusion  —  very- 
proper  for  his  imaginable  connection  with  the  garrot- 
ing  and  other  adventurous  brotherhoods  —  that  the 
most  flattering  moment  for  knocking  on  the  head 
people  who  answer  a  late  ring  at  night  is  either  in 
their  first  selfish  bewilderment,  or  their  final  self- 
abandonment  to  their  better  impulses.  It  does  not 
seem  to  have  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  himself 
have  been  a  much  more  favorable  subject  for  the 
predatory  arts  that  any  of  his  neighbors,  if  his  ship- 
mate, the  unknown  companion  of  his  researches  for 
12 


178  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

Mr.  Hapford,  had  been  at  all  so  minded.  But  the 
faith  of  the  gaunt  giant  upon  which  he  reposed  was 
good,  and  the  contributor  continued  to  wander  about 
with  him  in  perfect  safety.  Not  a  soul  among  those 
they  asked  had  ever  heard  of  a  Mr.  Hapford,  —  far 
less  of  a  Julia  Tinker  living  with  him.  But  they  all 
listened  to  the  contributor's  explanation  with  interest 
and  eventual  sympathy  ;  and  in  truth,  —  briefly  told, 
with  a  word  now  and  then  thrown  in  by  Jonathan 
Tinker,  who  kept  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps,  showing 
like  a  gloomy  spectre  in  the  night,  or,  in  his  gro- 
tesque length  and  gauntness,  like  the  other's  shadow 
cast  there  by  the  lamplight,  —  it  was  a  story  which 
could  hardly  fail  to  awaken  pity. 

At  last,  after  ringing  several  bells  where  there 
were  no  lights,  in  the  mere  wantonness  of  good-will, 
and  going  away  before  they  could  be  answered  (it 
would  be  entertaining  to  know  what  dreams  they 
caused  the  sleepers  within),  there  seemed  to  be 
nothing  for  it  but  to  give  up  the  search  till  morning, 
and  go  to  the  main  street  and  wait  for  the  last  horse- 
car  to  the  city. 

There,  seated  upon  the  curbstone,  Jonathan 
Tinker,  being  plied  with  a  few  leading  questions, 
told  in  hints  and  scraps  the  story  of  his  hard  life, 
which  was  at  present  that  of  a  second  mate,  and  had 
been  that  of  a  cabin-boy  and  of  a  seaman  before  the 
mast.  The  second  mate's  place  he  held  to  be  the 
hardest  aboard  ship.  You  got  only  a  few  dollars 
more  than  the  men,  and  you  did  not  rank  with  the 
officers ;  you  took  your  meals  alone,  and  in  every- 


A  EOMANCE   OF  REAL  LIFE.  179 

thing  you  belonged  by  yourself.  The  men  did  not 
respect  you,  and  sometimes  the  captain  abused  you 
awfully  before  the  passengers.  The  hardest  captain 
that  Jonathan  Tinker  ever  sailed  with  was  Captain 
Gooding  of  the  Cape.  It  had  got  to  be  so  that  no 
man  would  ship  second  mate  under  Captain  Good- 
ing  ;  and  Jonathan  Tinker  was  with  him  only  one 
voyage.  When  he  had  been  home  awhile,  he  saw 
an  advertisement  for  a  second  mate,  and  he  went 
round  to  the  owners'.  They  had  kept  it  secret  who 
the  captain  was ;  but  there  was  Captain  Gooding  in 
the  owners'  office.  "  Why,  here's  the  man,  now, 
that  I  want  for  a  second  mate,"  said  he,  when  Jona- 
than Tinker  entered  ;  "  he  knows  me." —  "  Captain 
Gooding,  I  know  you  'most  too  well  to  want  to  sail 
under  you,"  answered  Jonathan.  "  I  might  go  if  I 
hadn't  been  with  you  one  voyage  too  many  already." 

"  And  then  the  men !  "  said  Jonathan,  "  the  men 
coming  aboard  drunk,  and  having  to  be  pounded 
sober!  And  the  hardest  of  the  fight  falls  on  the 
second  mate !  Why,  there  isn't  an  inch  of  me 
that  hasn't  been  cut  over  or  smashed  into  a  jell. 
I've  had  three  ribs  broken  ;  I've  got  a  scar  from  a 
knife  on  my  cheek ;  and  I've  been  stabbed  bad 
enough,  half  a  dozen  times,  to  lay  me  up." 

Here  he  gave  a  sort  of  desperate  laugh,  as  if  the 
notion  of  so  much  misery  and  such  various  mutila- 
tion were  too  grotesque  not  to  be  amusing.  "  Well, 
what  can  you  do  ?  "  he  went  on.  "  If  you  don't 
strike,  the  men  think  you're  afraid  of  them  ;  and  so 
you  have  to  begin  hard  and  go  on  hard.  I  always 


180  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

tell  a  man,  c  Now,  my  man,  I  always  begin  with  a 
man  the  way  I  mean  to  keep  on.  You  do  your  duty 
and  you're  all  right.  But  if  you  don't '  —  Well, 
the  men  ain't  Americans  any  more,  —  Dutch,  Span- 
iards, Chinese,  Portuguee,  —  and  it  ain't  like  abusing 
a  white  man." 

Jonathan  Tinker  was  plainly  part  of  the  horrible 
tyranny  which  we  all  know  exists  on  shipboard  ;  and 
his  listener  respected  him  the  more  that,  though  he 
had  heart  enough  to  be  ashamed  of  it,  he  was  too 
honest  not  to  own  it. 

Why  did  he  still  follow  the  sea?  Because  he  did 
not  know  what  else  to  do.  When  he  was  younger, 
he  used  to  love  it,  but  now  he  hated  it.  Yet  there 
was  not  a  prettier  life  in  the  world  if  you  got  to  be 
captain.  He  used  to  hope  for  that  once,  but  not 
now  ;  though  he  thought  he  could  navigate  a  ship. 
Only  let  him  get  his  family  together  again,  and  he 
would  —  yes,  he  would  —  try  to  do  something  ashore. 

No  car  had  yet  come  in  sight,  and  so  the  con- 
tributor suggested  that  they  should  walk  to  the  car- 
office,  and  look  in  the  "  Directory,"  which  is  kept 
there,  for  the  name  of  Hapford,  in  search  of  whom  it 
had  already  been  arranged  that  they  should  renew 
their  acquaintance  on  the  morrow.  Jonathan  Tinker, 
when  they  had  reached  the  office,  heard  with  con- 
stitutional phlegm  that  the  name  of  the  Hapford, 
for  whom  he  inquired  was  not  in  the  "  Directory." 
"  Never  mind,"  said  the  other ;  "  come  round  to  my 
house  in  the  morning.  We'll  find  him  yet."  So  they 
parted  with  a  shake  of  the  hand,  the  second  mate  say- 


A  ROMANCE   OF  REAL  LIFE.  181 

ing  that  he  believed  he  should  go  down  to  the  vessel 
and  sleep  aboard,  —  if  he  could  sleep,  —  and  murmur- 
ing at  the  last  moment  the  hope  of  returning  the 
compliment,  while  the  other  walked  homeward,  weary 
as  to  the  flesh,  but,  in  spite  of  his  sympathy  for  Jona- 
than Tinker,  very  elate  in  spirit.  The  truth  is,  — 
and  however  disgraceful  to  human  nature,  let  the 
truth  still  be  told,  —  he  had  recurred  to  his  primal 
satisfaction  in  the  man  as  calamity  capable  of  being 
used  for  such  and  such  literary  ends,  and,  while  he 
pitied  him,  rejoiced  in  him  as  an  episode  of  real  life 
quite  as  striking  and  complete  as  anything  in  fiction. 
It  was  literature  made  to  his  hand.  Nothing  could 
be  better,  he  mused ;  and  once  more  he  passed  the 
details  of  the  story  in  review,  and  beheld  all  those 
pictures  which  the  poor  fellow's  artless  words  had  so 
vividly  conjured  up :  he  saw  him  leaping  ashore  in 
the  gray  summer  dawn  as  soon  as  the  ship  hauled 
into  the  dock,  and  making  his  way,  with  his  vague 
sea-legs  unaccustomed  to  the  pavements,  up  through 
the  silent  and  empty  city  streets ;  he  imagined  the 
tumult  of  fear  and  hope  which  the  sight  of  the  man's 
home  must  have  caused  in  him,  and  the  benumbing 
shock  of  finding  it  blind  and  deaf  to  all  his  appeals ; 
he  saw  him  sitting  down  upon  what  had  been  his 
own  threshold,  and  waiting  'in  a  sort  of  bewildered 
patience  till  the  neighbors  should  be  awake,  while 
the  noises  of  the  streets  gradually  arose,  and  the 
wheels  began  to  rattle  over  the  stones,  and  the  milk- 
man and  the  ice-man  came  and  went,  and  the  wait- 
ing figure  began  to  be  stared  at,  and  to  challenge  the 


182  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

curiosity  of  the  passing  policeman ;  he  fancied  the 
opening  of  the  neighbor's  door,  and  the  slow,  cold 
understanding  of  the  case  ;  the  manner,  whatever  it 
was,  in  which  the  sailor  was  told  that  one  year  be- 
fore his  wife  had  died,  with  her  babe,  and  that  his 
children  were  scattered,  none  knew  where.  As  the 
contributor  dwelt  pityingly  upon  these  things,  but  at 
the  same  time  estimated  their  aesthetic  value  one  by 
one,  he  drew  near  the  head  of  his  street,  and  found 
himself  a  few  paces  behind  a  boy  slouching  onward 
through  the  night,  to  whom  he  called  out,  adventur- 
ously, and  with  no  real  hope  of  information,  — 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  anybody  on  this  street 
by  the  name  of  Hapford?" 

"  Why  no,  not  in  this  town,"  said  the  boy;  but 
he  added  that  there  was  a  street  of  the  same  name 
in  a  neighboring  suburb,  and  that  there  was  a  Hap- 
ford living  on  it. 

"  By  Jove ! "  thought  the  contributor,  "  this  is 
more  like  literature  than  ever ; "  and  he  hardly 
knew  whether  to  be  more  provoked  at  his  own  stu- 
pidity in  not  thinking  of  a  street  of  the  same  name  in 
the  next  village,  or  delighted  at  the  element  of  fatal- 
ity which  the  fact  introduced  into  the  story ;  for 
Tinker,  according  to  his  own  account,  must  have 
landed  from  the  cars  a  few  rods  from  the  very  door 
he  was  seeking,  and  so  walked  farther  and  farther 
from  it  every  moment.  He  thought  the  case  so 
curious,  that  he  laid  it  briefly  before  the  boy,  who, 
however  he  might  have  been  inwardly  affected,  was 
sufficiently  true  to  the  national  traditions  not  to 


A  EOMANCE  OF  REAL  LIFE.  183 

make  the  smallest  conceivable  outward  sign  of  con- 
cern in  it. 

At  home,  however,  the  contributor  related  his 
adventures  and  the  story  of  Tinker's  life,  adding  the 
fact  that  he  had  just  found  out  where  Mr.  Hapford 
lived.  "  It  was  the  only  touch  wanting,"  said  he  ; 
"  the  whole  thing  is  now  perfect." 

"  It's  too  perfect,"  was  answered  from  a  sad  enthu- 
siasm. "  Don't  speak  of  it !  I  can't  take  it  in." 

"  But  the  question  is,"  said  the  contributor,  peni- 
tently taking  himself  to  task  for  forgetting  the  hero 
of  these  excellent  misfortunes  in  his  delight  at  their 
perfection,  "  how  am  I  to  sleep  to-night,  thinking  of 
that  poor  soul's  suspense  and  uncertainty  ?  Never 
mind,  —  I'll  be  up  early,  and  run  over  and  make 
sure  that  it  is  Tinker's  Hapford,  before  he  gets  out 
here,  and  have  a  pleasant  surprise  for  him.  Would 
it  not  be  a  justifiable  coup  de  thedtre  to  fetch  his 
daughter  here,  and  let  her  answer  his  ring  at  the 
door  when  he  comes  in  the  morning  ?  " 

This  plan  was  discouraged.  "  No,  no  ;  let  them 
meet  in  their  own  way.  Just  take  him  to  Hapford' s 
house  and  leave  him." 

"  Very  well.  But  he's  too  good  a  character  to 
lose  sight  of.  He's  got  to  come  back  here  and  tell 
us  what  he  intends  to  do.". 

The  birds,  next  morning,  not  having  had  the  sec- 
ond mate  on  their  minds  either  as  an  unhappy  man 
or  a  most  fortunate  episode,  but  having  slept  long 
and  soundly,  were  singing  in  a  very  sprightly  way 
in  the  way-side  trees ;  and  the  sweetness  of  their 


184  SUBUEBAN  SKETCHES. 

notes    made    the    contributor's    heart    light   as   he 
climbed  the  hill  and  rang  at  Mr.  Hapford's  door. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  young  girl  of  fifteen  or 
sixteen,  whom  he  knew  at  a  glance  for  the  second 
mate's  daughter,  but  of  whom,  for  form's  sake,  he 
asked  if  there  were  a  girl  named  Julia  Tinker  living 
there. 

"  My  name's  Julia  Tinker,"  answered  the  maid, 
who  had  rather  a  disappointing  face. 

"  Well,"  said  the  contributor,  "  your  father's  got 
back  from  his  Hong-Kong  voyage." 

"  Hong-Kong  voyage  ?  "  echoed  the  girl,  with  a 
stare  of  helpless  inquiry,  but  no  other  visible  emo- 
tion. 

"  Yes.  He  had  never  heard  of  your  mother's 
death.  He  came  home  yesterday  morning,  and  was 
looking  for  you  all  day." 

Julia  Tinker  remained  open-mouthed  but  mute  ; 
and  the  other  was  puzzled  at  the  want  of  feeling 
shown,  which  he  could  not  account  for  even  as  a  na- 
tional trait.  "  Perhaps  there's  some  mistake,"  he 
said. 

"There  must  be,"  answered  Julia:  "my  father 
hasn't  been  to  sea  for  a  good  many  years.  My 
father,"  she  added,  with  a  diffidence  indescribably 
mingled  with  a  sense  of  distinction,  —  "  my  father's 
in  State's  Prison.  What  kind  of  looking  man  was' 
this  ?  " 

The  contributor  mechanically  described  him. 

Julia  Tinker  broke  into  a  loud,  hoarse  laugh. 
"  Yes,  it 's  him,  sure  enough."  And  then,  as  if  the 


A  ROMANCE   OF   REAL  LIFE.  185 

joke  were  too  good  to  keep :  "  Miss  Hapford,  Miss 
Hapford,  father's  got  out.  Do  come  here  !  "  she 
called  into  a  back  room. 

When  Mrs.  Hapford  appeared,  Julia  fell  back, 
and,  having  deftly  caught  a  fly  on  the  door-post, 
occupied  herself  in  plucking  it  to  pieces,  while  she 
listened  to  the  conversation  of  the  others. 

"  It 's  all  true  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Hapford,  when 
the  writer  had  recounted  the  moving  story  of  Jona- 
than Tinker,  "  so  far  as  the  death  of  his  wife  and 
baby  goes.  But  he  hasn't  been  to  sea  for  a  good 
many  years,  and  he  must  have  just  come  out  of 
State's  Prison,  where  he  was  put  for  bigamy. 
There's  always  two  sides  to  a  story,  you  know  ;  but 
they  say  it  broke  his  first  wife's  heart,  and  she  died. 
His  friends  don't  want  him  to  find  his  children,  and 
this  girl  especially." 

"  He's  found  his  children  in  the  city,"  said  the 
contributor,  gloomily,  being  at  a  loss  what  to  do  or 
say,  in  view  of  the  wreck  of  his  romance. 

"  O,  he's  found  'em  has  he  ?  "  cried  Julia,  with 
heightened  amusement.  "  Then  he'll  have  me  next, 
if  I  don't  pack  and  go." 

"  I'm  very,  very  sorry,"  said  the  contributor,  se- 
cretly resolved  never  to  do  another  good  deed,  no 
matter  how  temptingly  the  opportunity  presented 
itself.  "  But  you  may  depend  he  won't  find  out 
from  me  where  you  are.  Of  course  I  had  no  earthly 
reason  for  supposing  his  story  was  not  true." 

"  Of  course,"  said  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Hapford, 
mingling  a  drop  of  honey  with  the  gall  in  the  con- 
tributor's soul,  "  you  only  did  your  duty." 


186  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

And  indeed,  as  he  turned  away  he  did  not  feel 
altogether  without  compensation.  However  Jona- 
than Tinker  had  fallen  in  his  esteem  as  a  man,  he 
had  even  risen  as  literature.  The  episode  which 
had  appeared  so  perfect  in  its  pathetic  phases  did  not 
seem  less  finished  as  a  farce ;  and  this  person,  to 
whom  all  things  of  every-day  life  presented  them- 
selves in  periods  more  or  less  rounded,  and  capable 
of  use  as  facts  or  illustrations,  could  not  but  rejoice 
in  these  new  incidents,  as  dramatically  fashioned  as 
the  rest.  It  occurred  to  him  that,  wrought  into  a 
story,  even  better  use  might  be  made  of  the  facts 
now  than  before,  for  they  had  developed  questions 
of  character  and  'of  human  nature  which  could  not 
fail  to  interest.  The  more  he  pondered  upon  his 
acquaintance  with  Jonathan  Tinker,  the  more  fasci- 
nating the  erring  mariner  became,  in  his  complex 
truth  and  falsehood,  his  delicately  blending  shades  of 
artifice  and  naivetS.  He  must,  it  was  felt,  have  be- 
lieved to  a  certain  point  in  his  own  inventions :  nay, 
starting  with  that  groundwork  of  truth,  —  the  fact 
that  his  wife  was  really  dead,  and  that  he  had  not 
seen  his  family  for  two  years,  —  why  should  he  not 
place  implicit  faith  in  all  the  fictions  reared  upon  it  ? 
It  was  probable  that  he  felt  a  real  sorrow  for  her 
loss,  and  that  he  found  a  fantastic  consolation  in  de- 
picting the  circumstances  of  her  death  so  that  they 
should  look  like  his  inevitable  misfortunes  rather 
than  his  faults.  He  might  well  have  repented  his 
oifense  during  those  two  years  of  prison ;  and  why 
should  he  not  now  cast  their  dreariness  and  shame 


A   KOMANCE   OF  REAL  LIFE.  187 

out  of  his  memory,  and  replace  them  with  the  free- 
dom and  adventure  of  a  two  years'  voyage  to  China, 
—  so  probable,  in  all  respects,  that  the  fact  should 
appear  an  impossible  nightmare  ?  In  the  experi- 
ences of  his  life  he  had  abundant  material  to  furnish 
forth  the  facts  of  such  a  voyage,  and  in  the  weari- 
ness and  lassitude  that  should  follow  a  day's  walking 
equally  after  a  two  years'  voyage  and  two  years' 
imprisonment,  he  had  as  much  physical  proof  in 
favor  of  one  hypothesis  as  the  other.  It  was  doubt- 
less true,  also,  as  he  said,  that  he  had  gone  to  his 
house  at  dawn,  and  sat  down  on  the  threshold  of  his 
ruined  home  ;  and  perhaps  he  felt  the  desire  he  had 
expressed  to  see  his  daughter,  with  a  purpose  of  be- 
ginning life  anew  ;  and  it  may  have  cost  him  a  veri- 
table pang  when  he  found  that  his  little  ones  did  not 
know  him.  All  the  sentiments  of  the  situation  were 
such  as  might  persuade  a  lively  fancy  of  the  truth 
of  its  own  inventions  ;  and  as  he  heard  these  contin- 
ually repeated  by  the  contributor  in  their  search  for 
Mr.  Hapford,  they  must  have  acquired  an  objective 
force  and  repute  scarcely  to  be  resisted.  At  the 
same  time,  there  were  touches  of  nature  throughout 
Jonathan  Tinker's  narrative  which  could  not  fail  to 
take  the  faith  of  another.  The  contributor,  in  re- 
viewing it,  thought  it  particularly  charming  that  his 
mariner  had  not  overdrawn  himself,  or  attempted  to 
paint  his  character  otherwise  than  as  it  probably  was ; 
that  he  had  shown  his  ideas  and  practices  of  life  to 
be  those  of  a  second  mate,  nor  more  nor  less,  with- 
out the  gloss  of  regret  or  the  pretenses  to  refine- 


188  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

ment  that  might  be  pleasing  to  the  supposed  philan- 
thropist with  whom  he  had  fallen  in.  Captain 
Gooding  was  of  course  a  true  portrait;  and  there 
was  nothing  in  Jonathan  Tinker's  statement  of  the 
relations  of  a  second  mate  to  his  superiors  and  his 
inferiors  which  did  not  agree  perfectly  with  what  the 
contributor  had  just  read  in  "  Two  Years  before  the 
Mast,"  — a  book  which  had  possibly  cast  its  glamour 
upon  the  adventure.  He  admired  also  the  just  and 
perfectly  characteristic  air  of  grief  in  the  bereaved 
husband  and  father,  — those  occasional  escapes  from 
the  sense  of  loss  into  a  brief  hilarity  and  forgetful- 
ness,  and  those  relapses  into  the  hovering  gloom, 
which  every  one  has  observed  in  this  poor,  crazy 
human  nature  when  oppressed  by  sorrow,  and  which 
it  would  have  been  hard  to  simulate.  But,  above 
all,  he  exulted  in  that  supreme  stroke  of  the  imagi- 
nation given  by  the  second  mate  when,  at  parting, 
he  said  he  believed  he  would  go  down  and  sleep  on 
board  the  vessel.  In  view  of  this,  the  State's 
Prison  theory  almost  appeared  a  malign  and  foolish 
scandal. 

Yet  even  if  this  theory  were  correct,  was  the 
second  mate  wholly  answerable  for  beginning  his 
life  again  with  the  imposture  he  had  practiced  ? 
The  contributor  had  either  so  fallen  in  love  with  the 
literary  advantages  of  his  forlorn  deceiver  that  he 
would  see  no  moral  obliquity  in  him,  or  he  had 
touched  a  subtler  verity  at  last  in  pondering  the 
affair.  It  seemed  now  no  longer  a  farce,  but  had  a 
pathos  which,  though  very  different  from  that  of  its 


A  EOMANCE   OF  EEAL  LIFE.  189 

first  aspect,  was  hardly  less  tragical.  Knowing  with 
what  coldness,  or,  at  the  best,  uncandor,  he  (repre- 
senting Society  in  its  attitude  toward  convicted  Er- 
ror) would  have  met  the  fact  had  it  been  owned  to 
him  at  first,  he  had  not  virtue  enough  to  condemn 
the  illusory  stranger,  who  must  have  been  helpless  to 
make  at  once  evident  any  repentance  he  felt  or  good 
purpose  he  cherished,  Was  it  not  one  of  the  saddest 
consequences  of  the  man's  past,  —  a  dark  necessity 
of  misdoing,  —  that,  even  with  the  best  will  in  the 
world  to  retrieve  himself,  his  first  endeavor  must 
involve  a  wrong?  Might  he  not,  indeed,  be  con- 
sidered a  martyr,  in  some  sort,  to  his  own  admirable 
impulses  ?  I  can  see  clearly  enough  where  the  con- 
tributor was  astray  in  this  reasoning,  but  I  can  also 
understand  how  one  accustomed  to  value  realities 
only  as  they  resembled  fables  should  be  won  with 
such  pensive  sophistry ;  and  I  can  certainly  sympa- 
thize with  his  feeling  that  the  mariner's  failure  to 
reappear  according  to  appointment  added  its  final 
and  most  agreeable  charm  to  the  whole  affair,  and 
completed  the  mystery  from  which  the  man  emerged 
and  which  swallowed  him  up  again. 


SCENE. 

ON  that  loveliest  autumn  morning,  the  swollen 
tide  had  spread  over  all  the  russet  levels,  and 
gleamed  in  the  sunlight  a  mile  away.  As  the  con- 
tributor moved  onward  down  the  street,  luminous 
on  either  hand  with  crimsoning  and  yellowing  ma- 
ples, he  was  so  filled  with  the  tender  serenity  of 
the  scene,  as  not  to  be  troubled  by  the  spectacle  of 
small  Irish  houses  standing  miserably  about  on  the 
flats  ankle  deep,  as  it  were,  in  little  pools  of  the  tide, 
or  to  be  aware  at  first,  of  a  strange  stir  of  people 
upon  the  streets  :  a  fluttering  to  and  fro  and  lively 
encounter  and  separation  of  groups  of  bareheaded 
women,  a  flying  of  children  through  the  broken 
fences  of  the  neighborhood,  and  across  the  vacant 
lots  on  which  the  insulted  sign-boards  forbade  them 
to  trespass ;  a  sluggish  movement  of  men  through 
all,  and  a  pause  of  different  vehicles  along  the  side- 
walks. When  a  sense  of  these  facts  had  penetrated 
his  enjoyment,  he  asked  a  matron  whose  snowy  arms, 
freshly  taken  from  the  wash-tub,  were  folded  across 
a  mighty  chest,  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  A  girl  drowned  herself,  sir-r-r,  over  there  on  the 
flats,  last  Saturday,  and  they're  looking  for  her." 

"  It  was  the  best  thing  she  could  do,"  said  another 
matron  grimly. 


SCENE.  191 

Upon  this  answer  that  literary  soul  fell  at  once  to 
patching  himself  up  a  romantic  story  for  the  suicide, 
after  the  pitiful  fashion  of  this  fiction-ridden  age, 
when  we  must  relate  everything  we  see  to  something 
we  have  read.  He  was  the  less  to  blame  for  it,  be- 
cause he  could  not  help  it ;  but  certainly  he  is  not  to 
be  praised  for  his  associations  with  the  tragic  fact 
brought  to  his  notice.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  trite  or  obvious,  and  he  felt  his  intellectual 
poverty  so  keenly  that  he  might  almost  have  believed 
his  discomfort  a  sympathy  for  the  girl  who  had 
drowned  herself  last  Saturday.  But  of  course,  this 
could  not  be,  for  he  had  but  lately  been  thinking 
what  a  very  tiresome  figure  to  the  imagination  the 
Fallen  Woman  had  become.  As  a  fact  of  Chris- 
tian civilization,  she  was  a  spectacle  to  wring  one's 
heart,  he  owned  ;  but  he  wished  she  were  well  out 
of  the  romances,  and  it  really  seemed  a  fatality 
that  she  should  be  the  principal  personage  of  this 
little  scene.  The  preparation  for  it,  whatever  it 
was  to  be,  was  so  deliberate,  and  the  reality  had  so 
slight  relation  to  the  French  roofs  and  modern  im- 

O 

provements  of  the  comfortable  Charlesbridge  which 
he  knew,  that  he  could  not  consider  himself  other 
than  as  a  spectator  awaiting  some  entertainment, 
with  a  faint  inclination  to  be  critical. 

In  the  mean  time  there  passed  through  the  mot- 
ley crowd,  not  so  much  a  cry  as  a  sensation  of 
"  They've  found  her,  they've  found  her !  "  and  then 
the  one  terrible  picturesque  fact,  "  She  was  stand- 
ing upright ! " 


192  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

Upon  this  there  was  wilder  and  wilder  clamor 
among  the  people,  dropping  by  degrees  and  almost 
dying  away,  before  a  flight  of  boys  came  down  the 
street  with  the  tidings,  "  They  are  bringing  her  — 
bringing  her  in  a  wagon." 

The  contributor  knew  that  she  whom  they  were 
bringing  in  the  wagon,  had  had  the  poetry  of  love 
to  her  dismal  and  otherwise  squalid  death ;  but  the 
history  was  of  fancy,  not  of  fact  in  his  mind.  Of 
course,  he  reflected,  her  lot  must  have  been  obscure 
and  hard ;  the  aspect  of  those  concerned  about  her 
death  implied  that.  But  of  her  hopes  and  her  fears, 
who  could  tell  him  anything  ?  To  be  sure  he  could 
imagine  the  lovers,  and  how  they  first  met,  and 
where,  and  who  he  was  that  was  doomed  to  work 
her  shame  and  death  ;  but  here  his  fancy  came  upon 
something  coarse  and  common :  a  man  of  her  own 
race  and  grade,  handsome  after  that  manner  of 
beauty  which  is  so  much  more  hateful  than  ugliness 
is  ;  or,  worse  still,  another  kind  of  man  whose  deceit 
must  have  been  subtler  and  wickeder ;  but  whatever 
the  person,  a  presence  defiant  of  sympathy  or  even 
interest,  and  simply  horrible.  Then  there  were  the 
details  of  the  affair,  in  great  degree  common  to  all 
love  affairs,  and  not  varying  so  widely  in  any  con- 
dition of  life  ;  for  the  passion  which  is  so  rich  and 
infinite  to  those  within  its  charm,  is  apt  to  seem  a 
little  tedious  and  monotonous  in  its  character,  and 
poor  in  resources  to  the  cold  looker-on. 

Then,  finally,  there  was  the  crazy  purpose  and  its 
fulfillment :  the  headlong  plunge  from  bank  or 


SCENE.  193 

bridge ;  the  eddy,  and  the  bubbles  on  the  current 
that  calmed  itself  above  the  suicide  ;  the  tide  that 
rose  and  stretched  itself  abroad  in  the  sunshine, 
carrying  hither  and  thither  the  burden  with  which  it 
knew  not  what  to  do ;  the  arrest,  as  by  some  ghastly 
caprice  of  fate,  of  the  dead  girl,  in  that  upright  pos- 
ture, in  which  she  should  meet  the  quest  for  her,  as 
it  were  defiantly. 

And  now  they  were  bringing  her  in  a  wagon. 

Involuntarily  all  stood  aside,  and  waited  till  the 
funeral  car,  which  they  saw,  should  come  up  toward 
them  through  the  long  vista  of  the  maple-shaded 
street,  a  noiseless  riot  stirring  the  legs  and  arms  of 
the  boys  into  frantic  demonstration,  while  the  women 
remained  quiet  with  arms  folded  or  akimbo.  Before 
and  behind  the  wagon,  driven  slowly,  went  a  guard 
of  ragged  urchins,  while  on  the  raised  seat  above  sat 
two  Americans,  unperturbed  by  Anything,  and  con- 
cerned merely  with  the  business  of  the  affair. 

The  vehicle  was  a  grocer's  cart  which  had  per- 
haps been  pressed  into  the  service ;  and  inevitably 
the  contributor  thought  of  Zenobia,  and  of  Miles 
Coverdale's  belief  that  if  she  could  have  foreboded 
all  the  post-mortem  ugliness  and  grotesqueness  of 
suicide,  she  never  would  have  drowned  herself. 
This  girl,  too,  had  doubtless  had  her  own  ideas  of 
the  effect  that  her  death  was  to  make,  her  convic- 
tion that  it  was  to  wring  one  heart,  at  least,  and  to 
strike  awe  and  pity  to  every  other ;  and  her  woman's 
soul  must  have  been  shocked  from  death  could  she 

13 


194  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

have  known  in  what  a  ghastly  comedy  the  body  she 
put  off  was  to  play  a  part. 

In  the  bottom  of  the  cart  lay  something  long  and 
straight  and  terrible,  covered  with  a  red  shawl  that 
drooped  over  the  end  of  the  wagon ;  and  on  this 
thing  were  piled  the  baskets  in  which  the  grocers  had 
delivered  their  orders  for  sugar  and  flour,  and  coffee 
and  tea.  As  the  cart  jolted  through  their  lines,  the 
boys  could  no  longer  be  restrained ;  they  broke  out 
with  wild  yells,  and  danced  madly  about  it,  while 
the  red  shawl  hanging  from  the  rigid  feet  nodded  to 
their  frantic  mirth ;  and  the  sun  dropped  its  light 
through  the  maples  and  shone  bright  upon  the  flooded 
flats. 


JUBILEE  DAYS. 

I  BELIEVE  I  have  no  good  reason  for  including 
among  these  suburban  sketches  my  recollections  of 
the  Peace  Jubilee,  celebrated  by  a  monster  musical 
entertainment  at  Boston,  in  June,  1869 ;  and  I 
do  not  know  if  it  will  serve  as  excuse  for  their 
intrusion  to  say  that  the  exhibition  was  not  urban 
in  character,  and  that  I  attended  it  in  a  feeling  of 
curiosity  and  amusement  which  the  Bostonians  did 
not  seem  to  feel,  and  which  I  suspect  was  a  strictly 
suburban  if  not  rural  sentiment. 

I  thought,  on  that  Tuesday  morning,  as  our  horse- 
car  drew  near  the  Long  Bridge,  and  we  saw  the  Col- 
iseum spectral  through  the  rain,  that  Boston  was 
going  to  show  people  representing  other  parts  of  the 
country  her  Notion  of  weather.  I  looked  forward 
to  a  forenoon  of  clammy  warmth,  and  an  afternoon 
of  clammy  cold  and  of  east  wind,  with  a  misty  night- 
fall soaking  men  to  the  bones.  But  the  day  really 
turned  out  well  enough  ;  it  was  showery,  but  not 
shrewish,  and  it  smiled  pleasantly  at  sunset,  as  if 
content  with  the  opening  ceremonies  of  the  Great 
Peace  Jubilee. 

The  city,  as  we  entered  it,  gave  due  token  of  ex- 
citement, and  we  felt  the  celebration  even  in  the 


196  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

air,  which  had  a  holiday  quality  very  different  from 
that  of  ordinary  workday  air.  The  crowds  filled  the 
decorous  streets,  and  the  trim  pathways  of  the  Com- 
mon and  the  Public  Garden,  and  flowed  in  an  orderly 
course  towards  the  vast  edifice  on  the  Back  Bay,  pre- 
senting the  interesting  points  which  always  distinguish 
a  crowd  come  to  town  from  a  city  crowd.  You  get  so 
used  to  the  Boston  face  and  the  Boston  dress,  that  a 
coat  from  New  York  or  a  visage  from  Chicago  is  at 
once  conspicuous  to  you  ;  and  in  these  people  there 
was  not  only  this  strangeness,  but  the  different  oddi- 
ties that  lurk  in  out-of-way  corners  of  society  every- 
where had  started  suddenly  into  notice.  Long-haired 
men,  popularly  supposed  to  have  perished  with  the 
institution  of  slavery,  appeared  before  me,  and  men 
with  various  causes  and  manias  looking  from  their 
wild  eyes  confronted  each  other,  let  alone  such 
charlatans  as  had  clothed  themselves  quaintly  or 
grotesquely  to  add  a  charm  to  the  virtue  of  what- 
ever nostrum  they  peddled.  It  was,  however,  for 
the  most  part,  a  remarkably  well-dressed  crowd ; 
and  therein  it  probably  differed  more  than  in  any 
other  respect  from  the  crowd  which  a  holiday  would 
have  assembled  in  former  times.  There  was  little 
rusticity  to  be  noted  anywhere,  and  the  uncouthness 
which  has  already  disappeared  from  the  national  face 
seemed  to  be  passing  from  the  national  wardrobe. 
Nearly  all  the  visitors  seemed  to  be  Americans,  but 
neither  the  Yankee  type  nor  the  Hoosier  was  to  be 
found.  They  were  apparently  very  happy,  too ;  the 
ancestral  solemnity  of  the  race  that  amuses  itself 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  197 

sadly  was  not  to  be  seen  in  them,  and,  if  they  were 
not  making  it  a  duty  to  be  gay,  they  were  really 
taking  their  pleasure  in  a  cheerful  spirit. 

There  was,  in  fact,  something  in  the  sight  of  the 
Coliseum,  as  we  approached  it,  which  was  a  sufficient 
cause  of  elation  to  whoever  is  buoyed  up  by  the 
nutter  of  bright  flags,  and  the  movement  in  and 
about  holiday  booths,  as  I  think  we  all  are  apt  to  be. 
One  may  not  have  the  stomach  of  happier  days  for 
the  swing  or  the  whirligig ;  he  may  not  drink  soda- 
water  intemperately  ;  pop-corn  may  not  tempt  him, 
nor  tropical  fruits  allure  ;  but  he  beholds  them  with- 
out gloom,  —  nay,  a  grin  inevitably  lights  up  his 
countenance  at  the  sight  of  a  great  show  of  these 
amusements  and  refreshments.  And  any  Bostonian 
might  have  felt  proud  that  morning  that  his  city  did 
not  hide  the  light  of  her  mercantile  merit  under  a 
bushel,  but  blazoned  it  about  on  the  booths  and  walls 
in  every  variety  of  printed  and  painted  advertise- 
ment. To  the  mere  aesthetic  observer,  these  vast 
placards  gave  the  delight  of  brilliant  color,  and 
blended  prettily  enough  in  effect  with  the  flags  ;  and 
at  first  glance  I  received  quite  as  much  pleasure 
from  the  frescoes  that  advised  me  where  to  buy  my 
summer  clothing,  as  from  any  bunting  I  saw. 

I  had  the  good  fortune  on  the  morning  of  this  first 
Jubilee  day  to  view  the  interior  of  the  Coliseum 
when  there  was  scarcely  anybody  there,  —  a  trifle 
of  ten  thousand  singers  at  one  end,  and  a  few  thou- 
sand other  people  scattered  about  over  the  wide 
expanses  of  parquet  and  galleries.  The  decorations 


198  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

within,  as  without,  were  a  pleasure  to  the  eyes  that 
love  gayety  of  color  ;  and  the  interior  was  certainly 
magnificent,  with  those  long  lines  of  white  and  blue 
drapery  roofing  the  balconies,  the  slim,  lofty  columns 
festooned  with  flags  and  drooping  banners,  the  arms 
of  the  States  decking  the  fronts  of  the  galleries,  and 
the  arabesques  of  painted  muslin  everywhere.  I  do 
not  know  that  my  taste  concerned,  itself  with  the 
decorations,  or  that  I  have  any  taste  in  such  things  ; 
but  I  testify  that  these  tints  and  draperies  gave  no 
small  part  of  the  comfort  of  being  where  all  things 
conspired  for  one's  pleasure.  The  airy  amplitude 
of  the  building,  the  perfect  order  and  the  perfect 
freedom  of  movement,  the  ease  of  access  and  exit, 
the  completeness  of  the  arrangements  that  in  the 
afternoon  gave  all  of  us  thirty  thousand  spectators  a 
chance  to  behold  the  great  spectacle  as  well  as  to 
hear  the  music,  were  felt,  I  am  sure,  as  personal 
favors  by  every  one.  These  minor  particulars,  in 
fact,  served  greatly  to  assist  you  in  identifying  your- 
self, when  the  vast  hive  swarmed  with  humanity, 
and  you  became  a  mere  sentient  atom  of  the  mass. 

It  was  rumored  in  the  morning  that  the  cere- 
monies were  to  begin  with  prayer  by  a  hundred 
ministers,  but  I  missed  this  striking  feature  of  the 
exhibition,  for  I  did  not  arrive  in  the  afternoon  till 
the  last  speech  was  being  made  by  a  gentleman 
whom  I  saw  gesticulating  effectively,  and  whom  I 
suppose  to  have  been  intelligible  to  a  matter  of 
twenty  thousand  people  in  his  vicinity,  but  who  was 
to  me,  of  the  remote,  outlying  thirty  thousand,  a 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  199 

voice  merely.  One  word  only  I  caught,  and  I 
report  it  here  that  posterity  may  know  as  much  as 
we  thirty  thousand  contemporaries  did  of 

THE  PRESIDENT'S  SPEECH. 


.     .     .     .    (sensation.)  .     .     . 
.  (cheers.)     .     .     .     refinement 
.     .     .    (great  applause.) 


I  do  not  know  if  I  shall  be  able  to  give  an  idea  of 
the  immensity  of  this  scene  ;  but  if  such  a  reader  as 
has  the  dimensions  of  the  Coliseum  accurately  fixed 
in  his  mind  will,  in  imagination,  densely  hide  all  that 
interminable  array  of  benching  in  the  parquet  and 
the  galleries  and  the  slopes  at  either  end  of  the  edi- 
fice with  human  heads,  showing  here  crowns,  there 
occiputs,  and  yonder  faces,  he  will  perhaps  have 
some  notion  of  the  spectacle  as  we  beheld  it  from 
the  northern  hill-side.  Some  thousands  of  heads 
nearest  were  recognizable  as  attached  by  the  usual 
neck  to  the  customary  human  body,  but  for  the  rest, 
we  seemed  to  have  entered  a  world  of  cherubim. 
Especially  did  the  multitudinous  singers  seated  far 
opposite  encourage  this  illusion  ;  and  their  fluttering 
fans  and  handkerchiefs  wonderfully  mocked  the 
movement  of  those  cravat-like  pinions  which  the 
fancy  attributed  to  them.  They  rose  or  sank  at  the 
wave  of  the  director's  baton ;  and  still  looked  like 
an  innumerable  flock  of  cherubs  drifting  over  some 
slope  of  Paradise,  or  settling  upon  it,  —  if  cherubs 
can  settle. 


200  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

The  immensity  was  quite  as  striking  to  the  mind 
as  to  the  eye,  and  an  absolute  democracy  was  appre- 
ciable in  it.  Not  only  did  all  artificial  distinctions 
cease,  but  those  of  nature  were  practically  obliter- 
ated, and  you  felt  for  once  the  full  meaning  of  unan- 
imity. No  one  was  at  a  disadvantage ;  one  was  as 
wise,  as  good,  as  handsome  as  another.  In  most 
public  assemblages,  the  foolish  eye  roves  in  search 
of  the  vanity  of  female  beauty,  and  rests  upon  some 
lovely  visage,  or  pretty  figure ;  but  here  it  seemed  to 
matter  nothing  whether  ladies  were  well  or  ill-look- 
ing ;  and  one  might  have  been  perfectly  ascetic 
without  self-denial.  A  blue  eye  or  a  black,  —  what 
of  it  ?  A  mass  of  blonde  or  chestnut  hair,  this  sort 
of  walking-dress  or  that,  —  you  might  note  the 
difference  casually  in  a  few  hundred  around  you; 
but  a  sense  of  those  myriads  of  other  eyes  and 
chignons  and  walking-dresses  absorbed  the  impres- 
sion in  an  instant,  and  left  a  dim,  strange  sense  of 
loss,  as  if  all  women  had  suddenly  become  Woman. 
For  the  time,  one  would  have  been  preposterously 
conceited  to  have  felt  his  littleness  in  that  crowd ; 
you  never  thought  of  yourself  in  an  individual 
capacity  at  all.  It  was  as  if  you  were  a  private  in  an 
army,  or  a  very  ordinary  billow  of  the  sea,  feeling 
the  battle  or  the  storm,  in  a  collective  sort  of  way, 
but  unable  to  distinguish  your  sensations  from  those 
of  the  mass.  If  a  rafter  had  fallen  and  crushed  you 
and  your  unimportant  row  of  people,  you  could 
scarcely  have  regarded  it  as  a  personal  calamity,  but 
might  have  found  it  disagreeable  as  a  shock  to  that 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  201 

great  body  of  humanity.  Recall,  then,  how  aston- 
ished you  were  to  be  recognized  by  some  one,  and 
to  have  your  hand  shaken  in  your  individual  charac- 
ter of  Smith.  "  Smith  ?  My  dear  What's-your- 
name,  I  am  for  the  present  the  fifty-thousandth  part 
of  an  enormous  emotion!  " 

It  was  as  difficult  to  distribute  the  various  facts  of 
the  whole  effect,  as  to  identify  one's  self.  I  had  only 
a  public  and  general  consciousness  of  the  delight 
given  by  the  harmony  of  hues  in  the  parquet  below  ; 
and  concerning  the  orchestra  I  had  at  first  no  dis- 
tinct impression  save  of  the  three  hundred  and  thirty 
violin-bows  held  erect  like  standing  wheat  at  one 
motion  of  the  director's  wand,  and  then  falling  as  if 
with  the  next  he  swept  them  down.  Afterwards 
files  of  men  with  horns,  and  other  files  of  men  with 
drums  and  cymbals,  discovered  themselves ;  while  far 
above  all,  certain  laborious  figures  pumped  or  ground 
with  incessant  obeisance  at  the  apparatus  supplying 
the  organ  with  wind. 

What  helped,  more  than  anything  else,  to  restore 
you  your  dispersed  and  wandering  individuality  was 
the  singing  of  Parepa-Rosa,  as  she  triumphed  over 
the  harmonious  rivalry  of  the  orchestra.  There  was 
something  in  the  generous  amplitude  and  robust 
cheerfulness  of  this  great  artist  that  accorded  well  with 
the  ideal  of  the  occasion ;  she  was  in  herself  a  great 
musical  festival  ;  and  one  felt,  as  she  floated  down 
the  stage  with  her  far-spreading  white  draperies,  and 
swept  the  audience  a  colossal  courtesy,  that  here  was 
the  embodied  genius  of  the  Jubilee.  I  do  not  trust 


202  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

myself  to  speak  particularly  of  her  singing,  for  I 
have  the  natural  modesty  of  people  who  know  noth- 
ing about  music,  and  I  have  not  at  command  the 
phraseology  of  those  who  pretend  to  understand  it ; 
but  I  say  that  her  voice  filled  the  whole  edifice  with 
delicious  melody,  that  it  soothed  and  composed  and 
utterly  enchanted,  that,  though  two  hundred  violins 
accompanied  her,  the  greater  sweetness  of  her  note 
prevailed  over  all,  like  a  mighty  will  commanding 
many.  What  a  sublime  ovation  for  her  when  a 
hundred  thousand  hands  thundered  their  acclaim  ! 
A  victorious  general,  an  accepted  lover,  a  successful 
young  author,  —  these  know  a  measure  of  bliss,  I 
dare  say ;  but  in  one  throb,  the  singer's  heart,  as  it 
leaps  in  exultation  at  the  loud  delight  of  her  applau- 
sive thousands,  must  out-enjoy  them  all.  Let  me 
lay  these  poor  little  artificial  flowers  of  rhetoric  at 
the  feet  of  the  divine  singer,  as  a  faint  token  of  grat- 
itude and  eloquent  intention. 

When  Parepa  (or  Prepper,  as  I  have  heard  her 
name  popularly  pronounced)  had  sung,  the  revived 
consciousness  of  an  individual  life  rose  in  rebellion 
against  the  oppression  of  that  dominant  vastness.  In 
fact,  human  nature  can  stand  only  so  much  of  any 
one  thing.  To  a  certain  degree  you  accept  and 
conceive  of  facts  truthfully,  but  beyond  this  a  mere 
fantasticality  rules ;  and  having  got  enough  of  grand- 
eur, the  senses  played  themselves  false.  That  array 
of  fluttering  and  tuning  people  on  the  southern  slope 
began  to  look  minute,  like  the  myriad  heads  assem- 
bled in  the  infinitesimal  photograph  which  you  view 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  20-3 

through  one  of  those  little  half-inch  lorgnettes ;  and 
you  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  to  any  lovely 
infinite simality  yonder  you  showed  no  bigger  than  a 
carpet-tack.  The  whole  performance  now  seemed 
to  be  worked  by  those  tireless  figures  pumping  at 
the  organ,  in  obedience  to  signals  from  a  very  alert 
figure  on  the  platform  below.  The  choral  and 
orchestral  thousands  sang  and  piped  and  played ; 
and  at  a  given  point  in  the  scena  from  Verdi,  a  hun- 
dred fairies  in  red  shirts  marched  down  through  the 
sombre  mass  of  puppets  and  beat  upon  as  many 
invisible  anvils. 

This  was  the  stroke  of  anti-climax  ;  and  the  droll 
sound  of  those  anvils,  so  far  above  all  the  voices  and 
instruments  in  its  pitch,  thoroughly  disillusioned  you 
and  restored  you  finally  to  your  proper  entity  and 
proportions.  It  was  the  great  error  of  the  great 
Jubilee,  and  where  almost  everything  else  was  noble 
and  impressive,  —  where  the  direction  was  faultless, 
and  the  singing  and  instrumentation  as  perfectly  con- 
trolled as  if  they  were  the  result  of  one  volition,  — 
this  anvil-beating  was  alone  ignoble  and  discordant, 
—  trivial  and  huge  merely.  Not  even  the  artillery 
accompaniment,  in  which  the  cannon  were  made  to 
pronounce  words  of  two  syllables,  was  so  bad. 

The  dimensions  of  this  sketch  bear  so  little  pro- 
portion to  those  of  the  Jubilee,  that  I  must  perforce 
leave  most  of  its  features  unnoticed  ;  but  I  wish  to 
express  the  sense  of  enjoyment  which  prevailed 
(whenever  the  anvils  were  not  beaten)  over  every 
other  feeling,  even  over  wonder.  To  the  ear  as  to 


204  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

the  eye  it  was  a  delight,  and  it  was  an  assured  suc- 
cess in  the  popular  affections  from  the  performance 
of  the  first  piece.  For  my  own  part,  if  one  pleasur- 
able sensation,  besides  that  received  from  Parepa's 
singing,'  distinguished  itself  from  the  rest,  it  was  that 
given  by  the  performance  of  the  exquisite  Coronation 
March  from  Meyerbeer's  "  Prophet ;  "  but  I  say  this 
under  protest  of  the  pleasure  taken  in  the  choral 
rendering  of  the  "  Star-Spangled  Banner."  Closely 
allying  themselves  to  these  great  raptures  were  the 
minor  joys  of  wandering  freely  about  from  point  to 
point,  of  receiving  fresh  sensations  from  the  varying 
lights  and  aspects  in  which  the  novel  scene  presented 
itself  with  its  strange  fascinations,  and  of  noting, 
half  consciously,  the  incessant  movement  of  the 
crowd  as  it  revealed  itself  in  changing  effects  of 
color.  Then  the  gay  tumult  of  the  fifteen  minutes 
of  intermission  between  the  parts,  when  all  rose  with 
a  susurrus  of  innumerable  silks,  and  the  thousands 
of  pretty  singers  fluttered  about,  and  gossiped  trem- 
ulously and  delightedly  over  the  glory  of  the  per- 
formance, revealing  themselves  as  charming  feminine 
personalities,  each  with  her  share  in  the  difficulty 
and  the  achievement,  each  with  her  pique  or  pride, 
and  each  her  something  to  tell  her  friend  of  the  con- 
duct, agreeable  or  displeasing,  of  some  particular 
him  !  Even  the  quick  dispersion  of  the  mass  at  the 
close  was  a  marvel  of  orderliness  and  grace,  as  the 
melting  and  separating  parts,  falling  asunder,  radi- 
ated from  the  centre,  and  flowed  and  rippled  rapidly 
away,  and  left  the  great  hall  empty  and  bare  at 
last. 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  205 

And  as  you  emerged  from  the  building,  what 
bizarre  and  perverse  feeling  was  that  you  knew  ? 
Something  as  if  all-out-doors  were  cramped  and 
small,  and  it  were  better  to  return  to  the  freedom 
and  amplitude  of  the  interior  ? 

On  the  second  day,  much  that  was  wonderful  in  a 
first  experience  of  the  festival  was  gone  ;  but  though 
the  novelty  had  passed  away,  the  cause  for  wonder 
was  even  greater.  If  on  the  first  day  the  crowd 
was  immense,  it  was  now  something  which  the  im- 
perfect state  of  the  language  will  not  permit  me  to 
describe  ;  perhaps  awful  will  serve  the  purpose  as 
well  as  any  other  word  now  in  use.  As  you  looked 
round,  from  the  centre  of  the  building,  on  that  rest- 
less, fanning,  fluttering  multitude,  to  right  and  left 
and  north  and  south,  all  comparisons  and  similitudes 
abandoned  you.  If  you  were  to  write  of  the  scene, 
you  felt  that  your  effort,  at  the  best,  must  be  a  meagre 
sketch,  suggesting  something  to  those  who  had  seen 
the  fact,  but  conveying  no  intelligible  impression  of 
it  to  any  one  else.  The  galleries  swarmed,  the  vast 
slopes  were  packed,  in  the  pampa-like  parquet  even 
the  aisles  were  half  filled  with  chairs,  while  a  cloud 
of  placeless  wanderers  moved  ceaselessly  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  mass  under  the  balconies. 

When  that  common-looking,  uncommon  little  man 
whom  we  have  called  to  rule  over  us  entered  the 
house,  and  walked  quietly  down  to  his  seat  in  the 
centre  of  it,  a  wild,  inarticulate  clamor,  like  no  other 
noise  in  the  world,  swelled  from  every  side,  till 
General  Grant  rose  and  showed  himself,  when  it 


206  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

grew  louder  than  ever,  and  then  gradully  subsided 
into  silence.  Then  a  voice,  which  might  be  uttering 
syne  mortal  alarm,  broke  repeatedly  across  the  still- 
ness from  one  of  the  balconies,  and  a  thousand  glasses 
were  leveled  in  that  direction,  while  everywhere  else 
the  mass  hushed  itself  with  a  mute  sense  of  peril. 
The  capacity  of  such  an  assemblage  for  self-destruc- 
tion was,  in  fact,  but  too  evident.  From  fire,  in  an 
edifice  of  which  the  sides  could  be  knocked  out  in  a 
moment,  there  could  have  been  little  danger ;  the 
fabric's  strength  had  been  perfectly  tested  the  day 
before,  and  its  fall  was  not  to  be  apprehended  ;  but 
we  had  ourselves  greatly  to  dread.  A  panic  could 
have  been  caused  by  any  mad  or  wanton  person,  in 
which  thousands  might  have  been  instantly  trampled 
to  death ;  and  it  seemed  long  till  that  foolish  voice 
was  stilled,  and  the  house  lapsed  back  into  tranquillity, 
and  the  enjoyment  of  the  music.  In  the  performance 
I  recall  nothing  disagreeable,  nothing  that  to  my  igno- 
rance seemed  imperfect,  though  I  leave  it  to  the  wise 
in  music  to  say  how  far  the  great  concert  was  a  suc- 
cess. I  saw  a  flourish  of  the  director's  wand,  and  I 
heard  the  voices  or  the  instruments,  or  both,  respond, 
and  I  knew  by  my  programme  that  I  was  enjoying  an 
unprecedented  quantity  of  Haydn  or  Handel  or  Mey- 
erbeer or  Rossini  or  Mozart,  afforded  with  an  unques- 
tionable precision  and  promptness  ;  but  I  own  that  I 
liked  better  to  stroll  about  the  three-acre  house,  and 
that  for  me  the  music  was,  at  best,  only  one  of  the 
joys  of  the  festival. 

There  was  good  hearing  outside  for  those    that 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  207 

desired  to  listen  to  the  music,  with  seats  to  let  in 
the  surrounding  tents  and  booths ;  and  there  was 
unlimited  seeing  for  the  mere  looker-on.  At  least 
fifty  thousand  people  seemed  to  have  come  to  the 
Jubilee  with  no  other  purpose  than  to  gaze  upon  the 
outside  of  the  building.  The  crowd  was  incompara- 
bly greater  than  that  of  the  day  before  ;  all  the  main 
thoroughfares  of  the  city  roared  with  a  tide  of  feet 
that  swept  through  the  side  streets,  and  swelled  aim- 
lessly up  the  places,  and  eddied  there,  and  poured 
out  again  over  the  pavements.  The  carriage-ways 
were  packed  with  every  sort  of  vehicle,  with  foot- 
passengers  crowded  from  the  sidewalks,  and  with  the 
fragments  of  the  military  parade  in  honor  of  the 
President,  with  infantry,  with  straggling  cavalry- 
men, with  artillery.  All  the  paths  of  the  Common 
and  the  Garden  were  filled,  and  near  the  Coliseum 
the  throngs  densified  on  every  side  into  an  almost 
impenetrable  mass,  that  made  the  doors  of  the  build- 
ing difficult  to  approach  and  at  times  inaccessible. 

The  crowd  differed  from  that  of  the  first  day 
chiefly  in  size.  There  were  more  country  faces  and 
country  garbs  to  be  seen,  though  it  was  still,  on  the 
whole,  a  regular-featured  and  well-dressed  crowd, 
with  still  very  few  but  American  visages.  It  seemed 
to  be  also  a  very  frugal-minded  crowd,  and  to  spend 
little  upon  the  refreshments  and  amusements  pro- 
vided for  it.  In  these,  oddly  enough,  there  was 
nothing  of  the  march  of  mind  to  be  observed ;  they 
were  the  refreshments  and  amusements  of  a  former 
generation.  I  think  it  would  not  be  extravagant  to 


208  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

say  that  there  were  tons  of  pie  for  sale  in  a  multitude 
of  booths,  with  lemonade,  soda-water,  and  ice-cream 
in  proportion  ;  but  I  doubt  if  there  was  a  ton  of  pie 
sold,  and  towards  the  last  the  venerable  pastry  was 
quite  covered  with  dust.  Neither  did  people  seem 
to  care  much  for  oranges  or  bananas  or  peanuts,  or 
even  pop-corn,  —  five  cents  a  package  and  a  prize  in 
each  package.  Many  booths  stood  unlet,  and  in 
others  the  pulverous  ladies  and  gentlemen,  their 
proprietors,  were  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  leisure  which 
would  have  been  elegant  if  it  had  not  been  forced. 
There  was  one  shanty,  not  otherwise  distinguished 
from  the  rest,  in  which  French  soups  were  declared 
to  be  for  sale  ;  but  these  alien  pottages  seemed  to  be 
no  more  favored  than  the  most  poisonous  of  our 
national  viands.  But  perhaps  they  were  not  French 
soups,  or  perhaps  the  vicinage  of  the  shanty  was  not 
such  as  to  impress  a  belief  in  their  genuineness  upon 
people  who  like  French  soups.  Let  us  not  be  too 
easily  disheartened  by  the  popular  neglect  of  them. 
If  the  daring  reformer  who  inscribed  French  soups 
upon  his  sign  will  reappear  ten  years  hence,  we  shall 
all  flock  to  his  standard.  Slavery  is  abolished ;  pie 
must  follow.  Doubtless  in  the  year  1900,  the  man- 
agers of  a  Jubilee  would  even  let  the  refreshment- 

o 

rooms  within  their  Coliseum  to  a  cook  who  would 
offer  the  public  something  not  so  much  worse  than 
the  worst  that  could  be  found  in  the  vilest  shanty 
restaurant  on  the  ground.  At  the  Jubilee,  of  which 
I  am  writing,  the  unhappy  person  who  went  into  the 
Coliseum  rooms  to  refresh  himself  was  offered  for 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  209 

coffee  a  salty  and  unctuous  wash,  in  one  of  those 
thick  cups  which  are  supposed  to  be  proof  against 
the  hard  usage  of  "  guasts  "  and  scullions  in  humble 
eating-houses,  and  which  are  always  so  indescribably 
nicked  and  cracked,  and  had  pushed  towards  him  a 
bowl  of  veteran  sugar,  and  a  tin  spoon  that  had 
never  been  cleaned  in  the  world,  while  a  young  per- 
son stood  by,  and  watched  him,  asking,  "  Have  you 
paid  for  that  coffee  ?  " 

The  side-shows  and  the  other  amusements  seemed 
to  have  addressed  themselves  to  the  crowd  with  the 
same  mistaken  notion  of  its  character  and  require- 
ments ;  though  I  confess  that  I  witnessed  their  neg- 
lect with  regret,  whether  from  a  feeling  that  they 
were  at  least  harmless,  or  an  unconscious  sympathy 
with  any  quite  idle  and  unprofitable  thing.  Those 
rotary,  legless  horses,  on  which  children  love  to  ride 
in  a  perpetual  sickening  circle,  —  the  type  of  all  our 
effort,  —  were  nearly  always  mounted  ;  but  those 
other  whirligigs,  or  whatever  the  dreadful  circles 
with  their  swinging  seats  are  called,  -were  often  so 
empty  that  they  must  have  been  distressing,  from 
their  want  of  balance,  to  the  muscles  as  well  as  the 
spirits  of  their  proprietors.  The  society  of  monsters 
was  also  generally  shunned,  and  a  cow  with  five  legs 
gave  milk  from  the  top  of  her  back  to  an  audience 
of  not  more  than  six  persons.  The  public  apathy 
had  visibly  wrought  upon  the  temper  of  the  gen- 
tleman who  lectured  upon  this  gifted  animal,  and 
he  took  inquiries  in  an  ironical  manner  that  con- 
trasted disadvantageously  with  the  philosophical 


210  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

serenity  of  the  person  who  had  a  weighing-machine 
outside,  and  whom  I  saw  sitting  in  the  chair  and 
weighing  himself  by  the  hour,  with  an  expression  of 
profound  enjoyment.  Perhaps  a  man  of  less  bulk 
could  not  have  entered  so  keenly  into  that  simple 
pleasure. 

There  was  a  large  tent  on  the  grounds  for  dramat- 
ical entertainments,  with  six  performances  a  day, 
into  which  I  was  lured  by  a  profusion  of  high-colored 
posters,  and  some  such  announcement,  as  that  the 
beautiful  serio-comic  danseuse  and  world-renowned 
cloggist,  Mile.  Brown,  would  appear.  About  a 
dozen  people  were  assembled  within,  and  we  waited 
a  half-hour  beyond  the  time  announced  for  the  cur- 
tain to  rise,  during  which  the  spectacle  of  a  young  man 
in  black  broadcloth,  eating  a  cocoa-nut  with  his  pen- 
knife, had  a  strange  and  painful  fascination.  At  the 
end  of  this  half-hour,  our  number  was  increased  to 
eighteen,  when  the  orchestra  appeared,  —  a  snare- 
drummer  and  two  buglers.  These  took  their  place 
at  the  back  of  the  tent ;  the  buglers,  who  were 
Germans,  blew  seriously  and  industriously  at  their 
horns ;  but  the  native-born  citizen,  who  played  the 
drum,  beat  it  very  much  at  random,  and  in  the  mean 
time  smoked  a  cigar,  while  his  humorous  friend  kept 
time  upon  his  shoulders  by  striking  him  there  with  a 
cane.  How  long  this  might  have  lasted,  I  cannot 
tell ;  but,  after  another  delay,  I  suddenly  bethought 
me  whether  it  were  not  better  not  to  see  Mile. 
Brown,  after  all  ?  I  rose,  and  stole  softly  out  be- 
hind the  rhythmic  back  of  the  drummer ;  and  the 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  211 

world-renowned  cloggist  is  to  me  at  this  moment 
only  a  beautiful  dream,  —  an  airy  shape  fashioned 
upon  a  hint  supplied  by  the  engraver  of  the  posters. 

What,  then,  did  the  public  desire,  if  it  would  not 
smile  upon  the  swings,  or  monsters,  or  dramatic 
amusements  that  had  pleased  so  long?  Was  the 
music,  as  it  floated  out  from  the  Coliseum,  a  suffi- 
cient delight  ?  Or  did  the  crowd,  averse  to  the 
shows  provided  for  it,  crave  something  higher  and 
more  intellectual,  —  like,  for  example,  a  course  of 
the  Lowell  Lectures  ?  Its  general  expression  had 
changed  :  it  had  no  longer  that  entire  gayety  of  the 
first  day,  but  had  taken  on  something  of  the  sarcastic 
pathos  with  which  we  Americans  bear  most  oppressive 
and  fatiguing  things  as  a  good  joke.  The  dust  was 
blown  about  in  clouds ;  and  here  and  there,  sitting 
upon  the  vacant  steps  that  led  up  and  down  among 
the  booths,  were  dejected  and  motionless  men  and 
women,  passively  gathering  dust,  and  apparently 
awaiting  burial  under  the  accumulating  sand,  —  the 
mute,  melancholy  sphinxes  of  the  Jubilee,  with  their 
unsolved  riddle,  "  Why  did  we  come  ?  "  At  inter- 
vals, the  heavens  shook  out  fierce,  sudden  showers 
of  rain,  that  scattered  the  surging  masses,  and  sent 
them  flying  impotently  hither  and  thither  for  shelter 
where  no  shelter  was,  only  to  gather  again,  and 
move  aimlessly  and  comfortlessly  to  and  fro,  like  a 
lost  child. 

So  the  multitude  roared  within  and  without  the 
Coliseum  as  I  turned  homeward  ;  and  yet  I  found  it 
wandering  with  weary  feet  through  the  Garden,  and 


212  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

the  Common,  and  all  the  streets,  and  it  dragged  its 
innumerable  aching  legs  with  me  to  the  railroad 
station,  and,  entering  the  train,  stood  up  on  them,  — 
having  paid  for  the  tickets  with  which  the  companies 
professed  to  sell  seats. 

How  still  and  cool  and  fresh  it  was  at  our  subur- 
ban station,  when  the  train,  speeding  away  with  a 
sardonic  yell  over  the  misery  of  the  passengers  yet 
standing  up  in  it,  left  us  to  walk  across  the  quiet 
fields  and  pleasant  lanes  to  Benicia  Street,  through 
groups  of  little  idyllic  Irish  boys  playing  base-ball, 
with  milch-goats  here  and  there  pastorally  cropping 
the  herbage  ! 

In  this  pleasant  seclusion  I  let  all  Bunker  Hill 
Day  thunder  by,  with  its  cannons,  and  processions, 
and  speeches,  and  patriotic  musical  uproar,  hearing 
only  through  my  open  window  the  note  of  the  birds 
singing  in  a  leafy  coliseum  across  the  street,  and 
making  very  fair  music  without  an  anvil  among 
them.  "  Ah,  signer ! "  said  one  of  my  doorstep 
acquaintance,  who  came  next  morning  and  played 
me  Captain  Jenks,  —  the  new  air  he  has  had  added 
to  his  instrument,  —  "  never  in  my  life,  neither  at 
Torino,  nor  at  Milano,  nor  even  at  Genoa,  never  did 
I  see  such  a  crowd  or  hear  such  a  noise,  as  at  that 
Colosseo  yesterday.  The  carriages,  the  horses,  the 
feet !  And  the  dust,  O  Dio  mio  !  All  those  millions 
of  people  were  as  white  as  so  many  millers  !  " 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  the  city  looked 
quite  like  the  mill  in  which  these  millers  had  been 
grinding  ;  and  even  those  unpromisingly  elegant 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  213 

streets  of  the  Back  Bay  showed  mansions  powdered 
with  dust  enough  for  sentiment  to  strike  root  in,  and 
so  soften  them  with  its  tender  green  against  the  time 
when  they  shall  be  ruinous  and  sentiment  shall  swal- 
low them  up.  The  crowd  had  perceptibly  dimin- 
ished, but  it  was  still  great,  and  on  the  Common  it 
was  allured  by  a  greater  variety  of  recreations  and 
bargains  than  I  had  yet  seen  there.  There  were, 
of  course,  all  sorts  of  useful  and  instructive  amuse- 
ments, —  at  least  a  half-dozen  telescopes,  and  as 
many  galvanic  batteries,  with  numerous  patented 
inventions ;  and  I  fancied  that  most  of  the  peddlers 
and  charlatans  addressed  themselves  to  a  utilitarian 
spirit  supposed  to  exist  in  us.  A  man  that  sold 
whistles  capable  of  reproducing  exactly  the  notes  of 
the  mocking-bird  and  the  guinea-pig  set  forth  the 
durability  of  the  invention.  "  Now,  you  see  this 
whistle,  gentlemen.  It  is  rubber,  all  rubber ;  and 
rubber,  you  know,  enters  into  the  composition  of  a 
great  many  valuable  articles.  This  whistle,  then,  is 
entirely  of  rubber,  —  no  worthless  or  flimsy  material 
that  drops  to  pieces  the  moment  you  put  it  to  your 
lips,"  —  as  if  it  were  not  utterly  desirable  that  it 
should.  "  Now,  I'll  give  you  the  mocking-bird, 
gentlemen,  and  then  I'll  give  you  the  guinea-pig, 
upon  this  pure  Jfocfo'a-rubber  whistle."  And  he  did 
so  with  a  great  animation,  —  this  young  man  with  a 
perfectly  intelligent  and  very  handsome  face.  "  Try 
your  strength,  and  renovate  your  system !  "  cried 
the  proprietor  of  a  piston  padded  at  one  end  and 
working  into  a  cylinder  when  you  struck  it  a  blow 


214  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

with  your  fist;  and  the  owners  of  lung-testing 
machines  called  upon  you  from  every  side  to  try 
their  consumption  cure ;  while  the  galvanic-battery 
men  sat  still  and  mutely  appealed  with  inscriptions 
attached  to  their  cap-visors  declaring  that  electricity 
taken  from  their  batteries  would  rid  you  of  every  ache 
and  pain  known  to  suffering  humanity.  Yet  they 
were  themselves  as  a  class  in  a  state  of  sad  physical 
disrepair,  and  one  of  them  was  the  visible  prey  of 
rheumatism  which  he  might  have  sent  flying  from  his 
joints  with  a  single  shock.  The  only  person  whom 
I  saw  improving  his  health  with  the  battery  was  a 
rosy-faced  school-boy,  who  was  taking  ten  cents' 
worth  of  electricity  ;  and  I  hope  it  did  not  disagree 
with  his  pop-corn  and  soda-water. 

Farther  on  was  a  picturesque  group  of  street- 
musicians,  —  violinists  and  harpers ;  a  brother  and 
four  sisters,  by  their  looks,  —  who  afforded  almost 
the  only  unpractical  amusement  to  be  enjoyed  on 
the  Common,  though  not  far  from  them  was  a  blind 
old  negro,  playing  upon  an  accordion,  and  singing  to 
it  in  the  faintest  and  thinnest  of  black  voices,  who 
could  hardly  have  profited  any  listener.  No  one 
appeared  to  mind  him,  till  a  jolly  Jack-tar  with  both 
arms  cut  off,  but  dressed  in  full  sailor's  togs,  lurched 
heavily  towards  him.  This  mariner  had  got  quite  a 
good  effect  of  sea-legs  by  some  means,  and  looked 
rather  drunker  than  a  man  with  both  arms  ought  to 
be  ;  but  he  was  very  affectionate,  and,  putting  his 
face  close  to  the  other's,  at  once  entered  into  talk 
with  the  blind  man,  forming  with  him  a  picture  curi- 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  215 

ously  pathetic  and  grotesque.  He  was  the  only 
tipsy  person  I  saw  during  the  Jubilee  days,  —  if  he 
was  tipsy,  for  after  all  they  may  have  been  real  sea- 
legs  he  had  on. 

If  the  throng  upon  the  streets  was  thinner,  it  was 
greater  in  the  Coliseum  than  on  the  second  day ;  and 
matters  had  settled  there  into  regular  working  order. 
The  limits  of  individual  liberty  had  been  better 
ascertained ;  there  was  no  longer  any  movement  in 
the  aisles,  but  a  constant  passing  to  and  fro,  between 
the  pieces,  in  the  promenades.  The  house  presented, 
as  before,  that  appearance  in  which  reality  forsook 
it,  and  it  became  merely  an  amazing  picture.  The 
audience  supported  the  notion  of  its  unreality  by 
having  exactly  the  character  of  the  former  audiences, 
and  impressed  you,  despite  its  restlessness  and  inces- 
sant agitation,  with  the  feeling  that  it  had  remained 
there  from  the  first  day,  and  would  always  continue 
there  ;  and  it  was  only  in  wandering  upon  its  bor- 
ders through  the  promenades,  that  you  regained 
possession  of  facts  concerning  it.  In  no  other  way 
was  its  vastness  more  observable  than  in  the  perfect 
indifference  of  persons  one  to  another.  Each  found 
himself,  as  it  were,  in  a  solitude  ;  and,  sequestered 
in  that  wilderness  of  strangers,  each  was  freed  of  his 
bashfulness  and  trepidation.  Young  people  lounged 
at  ease  upon  the  floors,  about  the  windows,  on  the 
upper  promenades ;  and  in  this  seclusion  I  saw  such 
betrayals  of  tenderness  as  melt  the  heart  of  the 
traveller  on  our  desolate  railway  train's,  —  Fellows 
moving  to  and  fro  or  standing,  careless  of  other  eyes, 


216  SUBUEBAN  SKETCHES. 

with  their  arms  around  the  waists  of  their  Girls. 
These  were,  of  course,  people  who  had  only  attained 
a  certain  grade  of  civilization,  and  were  not  charac- 
teristic of  the  crowd,  or,  indeed,  worthy  of  notice 
except  as  expressions  of  its  unconsciousness.  I 
fancied  that  I  saw  a  number  of  their  class  outside 
listening  to  the  address  of  the  agent  of  a  patent  lini- 
ment, proclaimed  to  be  an  unfailing  specific  for  neu- 
ralgia and  headache,  —  if  used  in  the  right  spirit. 
"  For,"  said  the  orator,  "  we  like  to  cure  people  who 
treat  us  and  our  medicine  with  respect.  Folks  say, 
'  What  is  there  about  that  man  ?  —  some  magnetism 
or  electricity.*  And  the  other  day  at  New  Britain, 
Connecticut,  a  young  man  he  come  up  to  the  car- 
riage, sneering  like,  and  he  tried  the  cure,  and  it 
didn't  have  the  least  effect  upon  him."  There 
seemed  reason  in  this,  and  it  produced  a  visible  sen- 
sation in  the  Fellows  and  Girls,  who  grinned  sheep- 
ishly at  each  other. 

Why  will  the  young  man  with  long  hair  force 
himself  at  this  point  into  a  history,  which  is  striving 
to  devote  itself  to  graver  interests  ?  There  he  stood 
with  the  other  people,  gazing  up  at  the  gay  line  of 
streamers  on  the  summit  of  the  Coliseum,  and  taking 
in  the  Anvil  Chorus  with  the  rest,  —  a  young  man 
well-enough  dressed,  and  of  a  pretty  sensible  face, 
with  his  long  black  locks  falling  from  under  his  cyl- 
inder hat,  and  covering  his  shoulders.  What  awful 
spell  was  on  him,  obliging  him  to  make  that  figure 
before  his  fellow-creatures  ?  He  had  nothing  to 
sell ;  he  was  not,  apparently,  an  advertisement  of 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  217 

any  kind.  Was  he  in  the  performance  of  a  vow  ? 
Was  he  in  his  right  mind  ?  For  shame  !  a  person 
may  wear  his  hair  long  if  he  will.  But  why  not, 
then,  in  a  top-knot  ?  This  young  man's  long  hair 
was  not  in  keeping  with  his  frock-coat  and  his  cylin- 
der hat,  and  he  had  not  at  all  the  excuse  of  the  old 
gentleman  who  sold  salve  in  the  costume  of  Wash- 
ington's time  ;  one  could  not  take  pleasure  in  him  as 
in  the  negro  advertiser,  who  paraded  the  grounds  in 
a  costume  compounded  of  a  consular  chapeau  bras 
and  a  fox-hunter's  top-boots  —  the  American  diplo- 
matic uniform  of  the  future  —  and  offered  every  one 
a  printed  billet ;  he  had  not  even  the  attraction  of 
the  cabalistic  herald  of  Hunkidori.  Who  was  he  ? 
what  was  he  ?  why  was  he  ?  The  mind  played  for- 
ever around  these  questions  in  a  maze  of  hopeless 
conjecture. 

Had  all  those  quacks  and  peddlers  been  bawling 
ever  since  Tuesday  to  the  same  listeners  ?  Had  all 
those  swings  and  whirligigs  incessantly  performed 
their  rounds?  The  cow  that  gave  milk  from  the 
top  of  her  back,  had  she  never  changed  her  small 
circle  of  admirers,  or  ceased  her  flow?  And  the 
gentleman  who  sat  in  the  chair  of  his  own  balance, 
how  much  did  he  weigh  by  this  time  ?  One  could 
scarcely  rid  one's  self  of  the  illusion  of  perpetuity 
concerning  these  things,  and  I  could  not  believe 
that,  if  I  went  back  to  the  Coliseum  grounds  at  any 
future  time,  I  should  not  behold  all  that  vast  machin- 
ery in  motion. 

It  was  curious  to  see,  amid  this  holiday  turmoil, 


218  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

men  pursuing  the  ordinary  business  of  their  lives, 
and  one  was  strangely  rescued  and  consoled  by  the 
spectacle  of  the  Irish  hod-carriers,  and  the  brick- 
layers at  work  on  a  first-class  swell-front  residence 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  city  of  tents  and  booths. 
Even  the  locomotive,  being  associated  with  quieter 
days  and  scenes,  appealed,  as  it  whistled  to  and  fro 
upon  the  Providence  Railroad,  to  some  soft  bucolic 
sentiment  in  the  listener,  and  sending  its  note, 
ordinarily  so  discordant,  across  that  human  uproar, 
seemed  to  "babble  of  green  fields."  And  at  last 
it  wooed  us  away,  and  the  Jubilee  was  again  swal- 
lowed up  by  night. 

There  was  yet  another  Jubilee  Day,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  which  the  thousands  of  public-school  children 
clustered  in  gauzy  pink  and  white  in  the  place  of  the 
mighty  chorus,  while  the  Coliseum  swarmed  once 
more  with  people  who  listened  to  those  shrill,  sweet 
pipes  blending  in  unison  ;  but  I  leave  the  reader  to 
imagine  what  he  will  about  it.  A  week  later,  after 
all  was  over,  I  was  minded  to  walk  down  towards  the 
Coliseum,  and  behold  it  in  its  desertion.  The  city 
streets  were  restored  to  their  wonted  summer-after- 
noon tranquillity  ;  the  Public  Garden  presented  its 
customary  phases  of  two  people  sitting  under  a  tree 
and  talking  intimately  together  on  some  theme  of 
common  interest,  — 

"  Bees,  bees,  was  it  your  hydromel?  "  — 

of  the  swans  sailing  in  full  view  upon  the  little  lake  ; 
of  half  a  dozen  idlers  hanging  upon  the  bridge  to 
look  at  them ;  of  children  gayly  dotting  the  paths 


JUBILEE  DAYS.  219 

here  and  there  ;  and,  to  heighten  the  peacefulness 
of  the  effect,  a  pretty,  pale  invalid  lady  sat,  half  in 
shade  and  half  in  sun,  reading  in  an  easy-chair.  Far 
down  the  broad  avenue  a  single  horse-car  tinkled 
slowly ;  on  the  steps  of  one  of  the  mansions  charm- 
ing little  girls  stood  in  a  picturesque  group  full  of 
the  bright  color  which  abounds  in  the  lovely  dresses 
of  this  time.  As  I  drew  near  the  Coliseum,  I  could 
perceive  the  desolation  which  had  fallen  upon  the 
festival  scene  ;  the  white  tents  were  gone  ;  the  place 
where  the  world-renowned  cloggist  gave  her  serio- 
comic dances  was  as  lonely  and  silent  as  the  site  of 
Carthage  ;  in  the  middle  distance  two  men  were  dis- 
mantling a  motionless  whirligig  ;  the  hut  for  the  sale 
of  French  soups  was  closed ;  farther  away,  a  solitary 
policeman  moved  gloomily  across  the  deserted  spaces, 
showing  his  dark-blue  figure  against  the  sky.  The 
vast  fabric  of  the  Coliseum  reared  itself,  hushed  and 
deserted  within  and  without ;  and  a  boy  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves pressed  his  nose  against  one  of  the  painted 
window-panes  in  the  vain  effort  to  behold  the  noth- 
ing inside.  But  sadder  than  this  loneliness  sur- 
rounding the  Coliseum,  sadder  than  the  festooned 
and  knotted  banners  that  drooped  funereally  upon 
its  fagade,  was  the  fact  that  some  of  those  luckless 
refreshment-saloons  were  still  open,  displaying  viands 
as  little  edible  now  as  carnival  confetti.  It  was  as 
if  the  proprietors,  in  an  unavailing  remorse,  had  con- 
demned themselves  to  spend  the  rest  of  their  days 
there,  and,  slowly  consuming  their  own  cake  and 
pop-corn,  washed  down  with  their  own  soda-water 
and  lemonade,  to  perish  of  dyspepsia  and  despair. 


FLITTING. 

I  WOULD  not  willingly  repose  upon  the  friendship 
of  a  man  whose  local  attachments  are  weak.  I 
should  not  demand  of  my  intimate  that  he  have  a 
yearning  for  the  homes  of  his  ancestors,  or  even  the 
scenes  of  his  own  boyhood ;  that  is  not  in  American 
nature  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  is  but  a  poor  creature  who 
does  not  hate  the  village  where  he  was  born ;  yet  a 
sentiment  for  the  place  where  one  has  lived  two  or 
three  years,  the  hotel  where  one  has  spent  a  week, 
the  sleeping  car  in  which  one  has  ridden  from  Al- 
bany to  Buffalo,  —  so  much  I  should  think  it  well  to 
exact  from  my  friend  in  proof  of  that  sensibility  and 
constancy  without  which  true  friendship  does  not 
exist.  So  much  I  am  ready  to  yield  on  my  own 
part  to  a  friend's  demand,  and  I  profess  to  have  all 
the  possible  regrets  for  Benicia  Street,  now  I  have 
left  it.  Over  its  deficiencies  I  cast  a  veil  of  decent 
oblivion,  and  shall  always  try  to  look  upon  its  worthy 
and  consoling  aspects,  which  were  far  the  more  nu- 
merous. It  was  never  otherwise,  I  imagine,  than  an 
ideal  region  in  very  great  measure  ;  and  if  the  read- 
er whom  I  have  sometimes  seemed  to  direct  thither, 
should  seek  it  out,  he  would  hardly  find  my  Benicia 
Street  by  the  city  sign-board.  Yet  this  is  not  wholly 
because  it  was  an  ideal  locality,  but  because  much  of 


FLITTING.  221 

its  reality  has  now  become  merely  historical,  a  portion 
of  the  tragical  poetry  of  the  past.  Many  of  the 
vacant  lots  abutting  upon  Benicia  and  the  intersect- 
ing streets  flourished  up,  during  the  four  years  we 
knew  it,  into  fresh-painted  wooden  houses,  and  the 
time  came  to  be  when  one  might  have  looked  in 
vain  for  the  abandoned  hoop-skirts  which  used  to 
decorate  the  desirable  building-sites.  The  lessening 
pasturage  also  reduced  the  herds  which  formerly  fed 
in  the  vicinity,  and  at  last  we  caught  the  tinkle 
of  the  cow-bells  only  as  the  cattle  were  driven  past 
to  remoter  meadows.  And  one  autumn  afternoon 
two  laborers,  hired  by  the  city,  came  and  threw  up 
an  earthwork  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 
which  they  said  was  a  sidewalk,  and  would  add  to 
the  value  of  property  in  the  neighborhood.  Not 
being  dressed  with  coal-ashes,  however,  during  the 
winter,  the  sidewalk  vanished  next  summer  under 
a  growth  of  rag-weed,  and  hid  the  increased  values 
with  it,  and  it  is  now  an  even  question  whether  this 
monument  of  municipal  grandeur  will  finally  be  held 
by  Art  or  resumed  by  Nature,  —  who  indeed  has  a 
perpetual  motherly  longing  for  her  own,  and  may  be 
seen  in  all  outlying  and  suburban  places,  pathetically 
striving  to  steal  back  any  neglected  bits  of  ground 
and  conceal  them  under  her  skirts  of  tattered  and 
shabby  verdure.  But  whatever  is  the  event  of  this 
contest,  and  whatever  the  other  changes  wrought  in 
the  locality,  it  has  not  yet  been  quite  stripped  of 
the  characteristic  charms  which  first  took  our  hearts, 
and  which  have  been  duly  celebrated  in  these  pages. 


222  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

When  the  new  house  was  chosen,  we  made  prep- 
arations to  leave  the  old  one,  but  preparations  so  grad- 
ual, that,  if  we  had  cared  much  more  than  we  did, 
we  might  have  suffered  greatly  by  the  prolongation 
of  the  agony.  We  proposed  to  ourselves  to  escape 
the  miseries  of  moving  by  transferring  the  contents 
of  one  room  at  a  time,  and  if  we  did  not  laugh  incred- 
ulously at  people  who  said  we  had  better  have  it 
over  at  once  and  be  done  with  it,  it  was  because  we 
respected  their  feelings,  and  not  because  we  believed 
them.  We  took  up  one  carpet  after  another ;  one 
wall  after  another  we  stripped  of  its  pictures  ;  we 
sent  away  all  the  books  to  begin  with ;  and  by  this 
subtle  and  ingenious  process,  we  reduced  ourselves 
to  the  discomfort  of  living  in  no  house  at  all,  as  it 
were,  and  of  being  at  home  in  neither  one  place  nor 
the  other.  Yet  the  logic  of  our  scheme  remained 
perfect ;  and  I  do  not  regret  its  failure  in  practice,  for 
if  we  had  been  ever  so  loath  to  quit  the  old  house,  its 
inhospitable  barrenness  would  finally  have  hurried  us 
forth.  In  fact,  does  not  life  itself  in  some  such  fashion 
dismantle  its  tenement  until  it  is  at  last  forced  out 
of  the  uninhabitable  place  ?  Are  not  the  poor  little 
comforts  and  pleasures  and  ornaments  removed  one 
by  one,  till  life,  if  it  would  be  saved,  must  go  too  ? 
We  took  a  lesson  from  the  teachings  of  mortality, 
which  are  so  rarely  heeded,  and  we  lingered  over  our 
moving.  We  made  the  process  so  gradual,  indeed, 
that  I  do  not  feel  myself  all  gone  yet  from  the  famil- 
iar work-room,  and  for  aught  I  can  say,  I  still  write 
there  ;  and  as  to  the  guest-chamber,  it  is  so  densely 


FLITTING.  223 

peopled  by  those  it  has  lodged  that  it  will  never  quite 
be  emptied  of  them.  Friends  also  are  yet  in  the 
habit  of  calling  in  the  parlor,  and  talking  with  us ; 
and  will  the  children  never  come  off  the  stairs  ? 
Does  life,  our  high  exemplar,  leave  so  much  behind 
as  we  did  ?  Is  this  what  fills  the  world  with  ghosts  ? 

In  the  getting  ready  to  go,  nothing  hurt  half  so 
much  as  the  sight  of  the  little  girl  packing  her  doll's 
things  for  removal.  The  trousseaux  of  all  those 
elegant  creatures,  the  wooden,  the  waxen,  the  bis- 
cuit, the  india-rubber,  were  carefully  assorted,  and 
arranged  in  various  small  drawers  and  boxes ;  their 
house  was  thoughtfully  put  in  order  and  locked  for 
transportation ;  their  innumerable  broken  sets  of 
dishes  wrere  packed  in  paper  and  set  out  upon  the 
floor,  a  heart-breaking  little  basketful.  Nothing  real 
in  this  world  is  so  affecting  as  some  image  of  real- 
ity, and  this  travesty  of  our  own  flitting  was  almost 
intolerable.  I  will  not  pretend  to  sentiment  about 
anything  else,  for  everything  else  had  in  it  the  ele- 
ment of  self-support  belonging  to  all  actual  afflic- 
tions. When  the  day  of  moving  finally  came,  and 
the  furniture  wagon,  which  ought  to  have  been  only 
a  shade  less  dreadful  to  us  than  a  hearse,  drew  up 
at  our  door,  our  hearts  were  of  a  Neronian  hardness. 

"  Were  I  Diogenes,"  says  wrathful  Charles  Lamb 
in  one  of  his  letters,  "  I  would  not  move  out  of  a 
kilderkin  into  a  hogshead,  though  the  first  had  noth- 
ing but  small  beer  in  it,  and  the  second  reeked  claret." 
I  fancy  this  loathing  of  the  transitionary  state  came 
in  great  part  from  the  rude  and  elemental  nature  of 


224  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

the  means  of  moving  in  Lamb's  day.  In  our  own 
time,  in  Charlesbridge  at  least,  everything  is  so  per- 
fectly contrived,  that  it  is  in  some  ways  a  pleasant 
excitement  to  move ;  though  I  do  not  commend  the 
diversion  to  any  but  people  of  entire  leisure,  for  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  it  is,  at  any  rate,  an  interrup- 
tion to  work.  But  little  is  broken,  little  is  defaced, 
nothing  is  heedlessly  outraged  or  put  to  shame.  Of 
course  there  are  in  every  house  certain  objects  of 
comfort  and  even  ornament  which  in  a  state  of  repose 
derive  a  sort  of  dignity  from  being  cracked,  or 
scratched,  or  organically  debilitated,  and  give  an 
idea  of  ancestral  possession  and  of  long  descent  to 
the  actual  owner ;  and  you  must  not  hope  that  this 
venerable  quality  will  survive  their  public  exposure 
upon  the  furniture  wagon.  There  it  instantly  per- 
ishes, like  the  consequence  of  some  country  notable 
huddled  and  hustled  about  in  the  graceless  and  igno- 
rant tumult  of  a  great  city.  To  tell  the  truth,  the 
number  of  things  that  turn  shabby  under  the  ordeal 
of  moving  strikes  a  pang  of  unaccustomed  poverty 
to  the  heart  which,  loving  all  manner  of  makeshifts, 
is  rich  even  in  its  dilapidations.  For  the  time  you 
feel  degraded  by  the  spectacle  of  that  forlornness, 
and  if  you  are  a  man  of  spirit,  you  try  to  sneak  out 
of  association  with  it  in  the  mind  of  the  passer-by ; 
you  keep  scrupulously  in-doors,  or  if  a  fancied  exi- 
gency obliges  you  to  go  back  and  forth  between  the 
old  house  and  the  new,  you  seek  obscure  by-ways 
remote  from  the  great  street  down  which  the  wagon 
flaunts  your  ruin  and  decay,  and  time  your  arrivals 


FLITTING.  225 

and  departures  so  as  to  have  the  air  of  merely  drop- 
ping in  at  either  place.  This  consoles  you ;  but  it 
deceives  no  one  ;  for  the  man  who  is  moving  is  un- 
mistakably stamped  with  transition. 

Yet  the  momentary  eclipse  of  these  things  is  not 
the  worst.  It  is  momentary ;  for  if  you  will  but 
plant  them  in  kindly  corners  and  favorable  exposures 
of  the  new  house,  a  mould  of  respectability  will 
gradually  overspread  them  again,  and  they  will  once 
more  account  for  their  presence  by  the  air  of  having 
been  a  long  time  in  the  family ;  but  there  is  danger 
that  in  the  first  moments  of  mortification  you  will  be 
tempted  to  replace  them  with  new  and  costly  articles. 
Even  the  best  of  the  old  things  are  nothing  to  boast 
of  in  the  hard,  unpitying  light  to  which  they  are 
exposed,  and  a  difficult  and  indocile  spirit  of  extrav- 
agance is  evoked  in  the  least  profuse.  Because  of 
this  fact  alone  I  should  not  commend  the  diversion 
of  moving  save  to  people  of  very  ample  means  as 
well  as  perfect  leisure  ;  there  are  more  reasons  than 
the  misery  of  flitting  why  the  dweller  in  the  kilder- 
kin should  not  covet  the  hogshead  reeking  of  claret. 

But  the  grosser  misery  of  moving  is,  as  I  have 
hinted,  vastly  mitigated  by  modern  science,  and  what 
remains  of  it  one  may  use  himself  to  with  no  tre- 
mendous effort.  I  have  found  that  in  the  dentist's 
chair,  —  that  ironically  luxurious  seat,  cushioned  in 
satirical  suggestion  of  impossible  repose,  —  after  a 
certain  initial  period  of  clawing,  filing,  scraping,  and 
punching,  one's  nerves  accommodate  themselves  to 
the  torment,  and  one  takes  almost  an  objective  in- 

15 


226  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

terest  in  the  operation  of  tooth-filling ;  and  in  like 
manner  after  two  or  three  wagon-loads  of  your  house- 
hold stuff  have  passed  down  the  public  street,  and 
all  your  morbid  associations  with  them  have  been 
desecrated,  you  begin  almost  to  like  it.  Yet  I  can- 
not regard  this  abandon  as  a  perfectly  healthy  emo- 
tion, and  I  do  not  counsel  my  reader  to  mount  himself 
upon  the  wagon  and  ride  to  and  fro  even  once,  for 
afterwards  the  remembrance  of  such  an  excess  will 
grieve  him. 

Of  course,  I  meant  to  imply  by  this  that  moving 
sometimes  comes  to  an  end,  though  it  is  not  easy  to 
believe  so  wThile  moving.  The  time  really  arrives 
when  you  sit  down  in  your  new  house,  and  amid 
whatever  disorder  take  your  first  meal  there.  This 
meal  is  pretty  sure  to  be  that  gloomy  tea,  that  loathly 
repast  of  butter  and  toast,  and  some  kind  of  cake, 
with  which  the  soul  of  the  early-dining  American  is 
daily  cast  down  between  the  hours  of  six  and  seven 
in  the  evening ;  and  instinctively  you  compare  it  with 
the  last  meal  you  took  in  your  old  house,  seeking  in 
vain  to  decide  whether  this  is  more  dispiriting  than 
that.  At  any  rate  that  was  not  at  all  the  meal  which 
the  last  meal  in  any  house  which  has  been  a  home 
ought  to  be  in  fact,  and  is  in  books.  It  was  hurriedly 
cooked ;  it  was  served  upon  fugitive  and  irregular 
crockery ;  and  it  was  eaten  in  deplorable  disorder, 
with  the  professional  movers  waiting  for  the  table 
outside  the  dining-room.  It  ought  to  have  been  an 
act  of  serious  devotion ;  it  was  nothing  but  an  ex- 
piation. It  should  have  been  a  solemn  commemo- 


FLITTING.  227 

ration  of  all  past  dinners  in  the  place,  an  invocation 
to  their  pleasant  apparitions.  But  I,  for  my  part, 
could  not  recall  these  at  all,  though  now  I  think  of 
them  with  the  requisite  pathos,  and  I  know  they 
were  perfectly  worthy  of  remembrance.  I  salute 
mournfully  the  companies  that  have  sat  down  at 
dinner  there,  for  they  are  sadly  scattered  now ;  some 
beyond  seas,  some  beyond  the  narrow  gulf,  so  impass- 
ably deeper  to  our  longing  and  tenderness  than  the 
seas.  But  more  sadly  still  I  hail  the  host  himself, 
and  desire  to  know  of  him  if  literature  was  not 
somehow  a  gayer  science  in  those  days,  and  if  his 
peculiar  kind  of  drolling  had  not  rather  more  heart 
in  it  then.  In  an  odd,  not  quite  expressible  fashion, 
something  of  him  seems  dispersed  abroad  and  per- 
ished in  the  guests  he  loved.  I  trust,  of  course, 
that  all  will  be  restored  to  him  when  he  turns  —  as 
every  man  past  thirty  feels  he  may  when  he  likes, 
and  has  the  time  —  and  resumes  his  youth.  Or  if 
this  feeling  is  only  a  part  of  the  great  tacit  promise 
of  eternity,  I  am  all  the  more  certain  of  his  getting 
back  his  losses. 

I  say  that  now  these  apposite  reflections  occur  to 
me  with  a  sufficient  ease,  but  that  upon  the  true 
occasion  for  them  they  were  absent.  So,  too,  at 
the  first  meal  in  the  new  house,  there  was  none  of 
that  desirable  sense  of  setting  up  a  family  altar,  but 
a  calamitous  impression  of  irretrievable  upheaval, 
in  honor  of  which  sackcloth  and  ashes  seemed  the 
only  wear.  Yet  even  the  next  day  the  Lares  and 
Penates  had  regained  something  of  their  wonted 


228  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

cheerfulness,  and  life  had  begun  again  with  the  first 
breakfast.  In  fact,  I  found  myself  already  so  firmly 
established  that,  meeting  the  furniture  cart  which 
had  moved  me  the  day  before,  I  had  the  face  to  ask 
the  driver  whom  they  were  turning  out  of  house  and 
home,  as  if  my  own  flitting  were  a  memory  of  the 
far-off  past. 

Not  that  I  think  the  professional  mover  expects  to 
be  addressed  in  a  joking  mood.  I  have  a  fancy  that 
he  cultivates  a  serious  spirit  himself,  in  which  he 
finds  it  easy  to  sympathize  with  any  melancholy  on 
the  part  of  the  moving  family.  There  is  a  slight 
flavor  of  undertaking  in  his  manner,  which  is 
nevertheless  full  of  a  subdued  firmness  very  consol- 
ing and  supporting ;  though  the  life  that  he  leads 
must  be  a  troubled  and  uncheerful  one,  trying 
alike  to  the  muscles  and  the  nerves.  How  often 
must  he  have  been  charged  by  anxious  and  fluttered 
ladies  to  be  very  careful  of  that  basket  of  china,  and 
those  vases  !  How  often  must  he  have  been  vexed 
by  the  ignorant  terrors  of  gentlemen  asking  if  he 
thinks  that  the  library-table,  poised  upon  the  top  of 
his  load,  will  hold!  His  planning  is  not  infallible,  and 
when  he  breaks  something  uncommonly  precious, 
what  does  a  man  of  his  sensibility  do  ?  Is  the 
demolition  of  old  homes  really  distressing  to  him,  or 
is  he  inwardly  buoyed  up  by  hopes  of  other  and  bet- 
ter homes  for  the  people  he  moves  ?  Can  there  be 
any  ideal  of  moving?  Does  he,  perhaps,  feel  a  pride 
in  an  artfully  constructed  load,  and  has  he  something 
like  an  artist's  pang  in  unloading  it?  Is  there  a 


FLITTING.  229 

choice  in  families  to  be  moved,  and  are  some  worse 
or  better  than  others  ?  Next  to  the  lawyer  and  the 
doctor,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  professional  mover 
holds  the  most  confidential  relations  towards  his  fel- 
low-men. He  is  let  into  all  manner  of  little  domestic 
secrets  and  subterfuges  ;  I  dare  say  he  knows  where 
half  the  people  in  town  keep  their  skeleton,  and 
what  manner  of  skeleton  it  is.  As  for  me,  when  I 
saw  him  making  towards  a  certain  closet  door,  I 
planted  myself  firmly  against  it.  He  smiled  intelli- 
gence ;  he  knew  the  skeleton  was  there,  and  that  it 
would  be  carried  to  the  new  house  after  dark. 

I  began  by  saying  that  I  should  wish  my  friend  to 
have  some  sort  of  local  attachment ;  but  I  suppose 
it  must  be  owned  that  this  sentiment,  like  pity,  and 
the  modern  love-passion,  is  a  thing  so  largely  pro- 
duced by  culture  that  nature  seems  to  have  little  or 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  first  men  were  homeless 

o 

wanderers ;  the  patriarchs  dwelt  in  tents,  and  shifted 
their  place  to  follow  the  pasturage,  without  a  sigh ; 
and  for  children  —  the  pre-historic,  the  antique  peo- 
ple, of  our  day  —  moving  is  a  rapture.  The  last 
dinner  in  the  old  house,  the  first  tea  in  the  new,  so 
doleful  to  their  elders,  are  partaken  of  by  them  with 
joyous  riot.  Their  shrill  trebles  echo  gleefully  from 
the  naked  walls  and  floors  ;  they  race  up  and  down 
the  carpetless  stairs;  they-  menace  the  dislocated 
mirrors  and  crockery ;  through  all  the  chambers  of 
desolation  they  frolic  with  a  gayety  indomitable 
save  by  bodily  exhaustion.  If  the  reader  is  of  a 
moving  family,  —  and  so  he  is  as  he  is  an  Ameri- 


230  SUBURBAN   SKETCHES. 

can,  —  lie  can  recall  the  zest  he  found  during  child- 
hood in  the  moving  which  had  for  his  elders  — 
poor  victims  of  a  factitious  and  conventional  senti- 
ment !  —  only  the  salt  and  bitterness  of  tears.  His 
spirits  never  fell  till  the  carpets  were  down  ;  no  sor- 
row touched  him  till  order  returned ;  if  Heaven  so 
blessed  him  that  his  bed  was  made  upon  the  floor  for 
one  night,  the  angels  visited  his  dreams.  Why, 
then,  is  the  mature  soul,  however  sincere  and  hum- 
ble, not  only  grieved  but  mortified  by  flitting? 
Why  cannot  one  move  without  feeling  the  great 
public  eye  fixed  in  pitying  contempt  upon  him  ?  This 
sense  of  abasement  seems  to  be  something  quite 
inseparable  from  the  act,  which  is  often  laudable, 
and  in  every  way  wise  and  desirable  ;  and  he  whom 
it  has  afflicted  is  the  first  to  turn,  after  his  own  estab- 
lishment, and  look  with  scornful  compassion  upon 
the  overflowing  furniture  wagon  as  it  passes.  But 
I  imagine  that  Abraham's  neighbors,  when  he  struck 
his  tent,  and  packed  his  parlor  and  kitchen  furniture 
upon  his  camels,  and  started  off  with  Mrs.  Sarah 
to  seek  a  new  camping-ground,  did  not  smile  at  the 
procession,  or  find  it  worthy  of  ridicule  or  lament. 
Nor  did  Abraham,  once  settled,  and  reposing  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening  at  the  door  of  his  tent,  gaze 
sarcastically  upon  the  moving  of  any  of  his  brother 
patriarchs. 

To  some  such  philosophical  serenity  we  shall  also 
return,  I  suppose,  when  we  have  wisely  theorized 
life  in  our  climate,  and  shall  all  have  become  nomads 
once  more,  following  June  and  October  up  and  down 


FLITTING.  231 

and  across  the  continent,  and  not  suffering  the  full 
malice  of  the  winter  and  summer  anywhere.  But 
as  yet,  the  derision  that  attaches  to  moving  attends 
even  the  goer-out  of  town,  and  the  man  of  many 
trunks  and  a  retinue  of  linen-suited  womankind  is  a 
pitiable  and  despicable  object  to  all  the  other  passen- 
gers at  the  railroad  station  and  on  the  steamboat 
wharf. 

This  is  but  one  of  many  ways  in  which  mere 
tradition  oppresses  us.  I  protest  that  as  moving 
is  now  managed  in  Charlesbridge,  there  is  hardly 
any  reason  why  the  master  or  mistress  of  the  house- 
hold should  put  hand  to  anything ;  but  it  is  a  tradi- 
tion that  they  shall  dress  themselves  in  their  worst, 
as  for  heavy  work,  and  shall  go  about  very  shabby 
for  at  least  a  day  before  and  a  day  after  the  transi- 
tion. It  is  a  kind  of  sacrifice,  I  suppose,  to  a  ven- 
erable ideal ;  and  I  would  never  be  the  first  to  omit 
it.  In  others  I  observe  that  this  vacant  and  cere- 
monious zeal  is  in  proportion  to  an  incapacity  to  do 
anything  that  happens  really  to  be  required ;  and  I 
believe  that  the  truly  sage  person  would  devote 
moving-day  to  paying  visits  of  ceremony  in  his  finest 
clothes. 

As  to  the  house  which  one  has  left,  I  think  it 
would  be  preferable  to  have  it  occupied  as  soon  as 
possible  after  one's  flitting.  Pilgrimages  to  the 
dismantled  shrine  are  certainly  to  be  avoided  by  the 
friend  of  cheerfulness.  A  day's  absence  and  empti- 
ness wholly  change  its  character,  though  the  famil- 
iarity continues,  with  a  ghastly  difference,  as  in  the 


232  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

beloved  face  that  the  life  has  left.  It  is  not  at  all 
the  vacant  house  it  was  when  you  came  first  to  look 
at  it :  for  then  hopes  peopled  it,  and  now  memories. 
In  that  golden  prime  you  had  long  been  boarding, 
and  any  place  in  which  you  could  keep  house  seemed 
utterly  desirable.  How  distinctly  you  recall  that  wet 
day,  or  that  fair  day,  on  which  you  went  through  it 
and  decided  that  this  should  be  the  guest  chamber 
and  that  the  family  room,  and  what  could  be  done 
with  the  little  back  attic  in  a  pinch  !  The  children 
could  play  in  the  dining-room ;  and  to  be  sure  the 
parlor  was  rather  small  if  you  wanted  to  have  com- 
pany; but  then,  who  would  ever  want  to  give  a 
party  ?  and  besides,  the  pump  in  the  kitchen  was  a 
compensation  for  anything.  How  lightly  the  dumb 
waiter  ran  up  and  down,  — 

"  Qual  piuma  al  vento !  " 

you  sang,  in  very  glad-heartedness.  Then  esti- 
mates of  the  number  of  yards  of  carpeting ;  and 
how  you  could  easily  save  the  cost  from  the  differ- 
ence between  boarding  and  house-keeping.  Adieu, 
Mrs.  Brown  !  henceforth  let  your  "  desirable  apart- 
ments, en  suite  or  single,  furnished  or  unfurnished, 
to  gentlemen  only !  "  —  this  married  pair  is  about  to 
escape  forever  from  your  extortions. 

Well,  if  the  years  passed  without  making  us  sad- 
der, should  we  be  much  the  wiser  for  their  going  ? 
Now  you  know,  little  couple,  that  there  are  extor- 
tions in  this  wicked  world  beside  Mrs.  Brown's  ;  and 
some  other  things.  But  if  you  go  into  the  empty 


FLITTING.  233 

house  that  was  lately  your  home,  you  will  not,  I  be- 
lieve, be  haunted  by  these  sordid  disappointments, 
for  the  place  should  evoke  other  regrets  and  medita- 
tions. Truly,  though  the  great  fear  has  not  come 
upon  you  here,  in  this  room  you  may  have  known 
moments  when  it  seemed  very  near,  and  when  the 
quick,  fevered  breathings  of  the  little  one  timed 
your  own  heart-beats.  To  that  door,  with  many 
other  missives  of  joy  and  pain,  came  haply  the  dis- 
patch which  hurried  you  off  to  face  your  greatest  sor- 
row —  came  by  night,  like  a  voice  of  God,  speaking 
and  warning,  and  making  all  your  work  idle  and 
your  aims  foolish.  These  walls  have  answered,  how 
many  times,  to  your  laughter ;  they  have  had  friendly 
ears  for  the  trouble  that  seemed  to  grow  by  utter- 
ance. You  have  sat  upon  the  threshold  so  many 
summer  days  ;  so  many  winter  mornings  you  have 
seen  the  snows  drifted  high  about  it ;  so  often  your 
step  has  been  light  and  heavy  upon  it.  There  is 
the  study,  where  your  magnificent  performances 
were  planned,  and  your  exceeding  small  performances 
were  achieved ;  hither  you  hurried  with  the  first  crit- 
icism of  your  first  book,  and  read  it  with  the  rapture 
that  nothing  but  a  love-letter  and  a  favorable  review 

O 

can  awaken.  Out  there  is  the  well-known  humble 
prospect,  that  was  commonly  but  a  vista  into  dream- 
land ;  on  the  other  hand  .is  the  pretty  grove,  —  its 
leaves  now  a  little  painted  with  the  autumn,  and  fal- 
tering to  their  fall. 

Yes,  the  place  must  always  be  sacred,  but  pain- 
fully sacred  ;  and  I  say  again  one  should  not  go  near 


234  SUBURBAN  SKETCHES. 

it  unless  as  a  penance.  If  the  reader  will  suffer  me 
the  confidence,  I  will  own  that  there  is  always  a  pang 
in  the  past  which  is  more  than  any  pleasure  it  can 
give,  and  I  believe  that  he,  if  he  were  perfectly  hon- 
est, —  as  Heaven  forbid  I  or  any  one  should  be,  — 
would  also  confess  as  much.  There  is  no  house  to 
which  one  would  return,  having  left  it,  though  it 
were  the  hogshead  out  of  which  one  had  moved  into 
a  kilderkin ;  for  those  associations  whose  perishing 
leaves  us  free,  and  preserves  to  us  what  little  youth 
we  have,  were  otherwise  perpetuated  to  our  burden 
and  bondage.  Let  some  one  else,  who  has  also  es- 
caped from  his  past,  have  your  old  house  ;  he  will 
find  it  new  and  untroubled  by  memories,  while  you, 
under  another  roof,  enjoy  a  present  that  borders  only 
upon  the  future. 


